


you're what i reach for when i fall

by Daecyan_Shikoba



Series: Time Still Turns the Pages of the Book It's Burned [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Demisexual Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Masturbation, Mates, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Pack Bonding, Pack Building, Soul Bond, YouTube cover band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1860372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daecyan_Shikoba/pseuds/Daecyan_Shikoba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something killing people and taking their hearts without leaving a mark, something no one has the first clue about. Stiles may or may not be a lot more powerful than first suspected. Derek may or may not make stupid decisions because he is a self-sacrificing ass. The pack does not have time for these idiots and a monster hunt.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>"...the type you managed to create even more so. It is also permanent.”</em><br/><em>“Permanent?” Stiles squeaked, a sharp, white-hot bolt of guilt slicing through him.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prelude: took a piece of you inside me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livthelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livthelion/gifts), [Xerxies19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxies19/gifts).



> [fic title taken from Red's 'Already Over pt. 2'] [[chapter title taken from Avenged Sevenfold's 'Fiction']]  
> Hi. So, I have an actual job now. An actual 40hr/week job. That sucks. I wasn't exactly used to it ~~(understatment, Daecyan)~~ and it's taken a while to adjust to it, which is why I waited so long after finishing _How Do I Live_ before posting this. I'm aiming for around 50k, but I'm not totally sure how long it's going to be yet. I've got a bit written out already, and a planned ending point, but otherwise I'm still writing this like I wrote the other one: planned start, end, and major scenes while I fill in the gaps between. I'm hoping it won't take me as long to complete this as HDIL, but I also know how my mind functions so.
> 
> Seasons 3 and 4 are nonexistent in this 'verse, thus far. No characters or occurrences in up-to-date canon will appear in this fic, so you don't have to worry about spoilers if you're still watching the show. I know a few people who've dropped it, and I don't blame them after having watched season 3, after having seen the path the show has taken. But enough about that!
> 
> This picks up immediately after _How Do I Live_ ends. After this chapter the timeline gets a little ambiguous, much like it did in HDIL. The fic is still very pack heavy, I still don't have an actual beta, and it's for Liv, who is still awesome and my favorite, and Xerxies, who is amazingly glorious, my unicorn, and at least 85% of the reason why I ever managed to finish HDIL.

_prelude: took a piece of you inside of me_

* * *

Boyd was fully healed by the time Caleb got to the clearing. Erica and Scott were still out of it, and Caleb lifted Scott up into his arms after tossing Derek a pair of sweats. Boyd cradled Erica to his chest and followed Caleb as he carried Scott back to his cruiser. Derek maneuvered himself into the sweats, Stiles still in his arms, before turning to Peter.

 

“What do we do with it’s body?”

 

Peter made a face. “Get Stiles to Deaton’s, I’ll take care of the corpse.”

 

“Peter?”

 

“Do you _want_ to be here when I light it on fire?”

 

Derek cringed and clutched Stiles closer to his chest. “Not really. Do _you_?”

 

“Take care of your mate, Derek. Tell Caleb I’ll be there as soon as this is finished up.” Peter turned his back and pulled a zippo out of his pocket.

 

“If you insist,” Derek muttered and turned to follow the path to Caleb’s cruiser. He could hear Caleb asking Boyd about the fight up ahead. There was a sharp shard of distress coming from the sheriff as he listened to Boyd, his distress tightening into a coil of relieved anger when Boyd reached the part where Peter and Stiles showed up.

 

As he listened, it dawned on Derek that Stiles wouldn’t have been in that clearing in the first place, that he wasn’t _supposed_ to have been there. Derek gave a low growl, a belated warning, and buried his nose in the hair at Stiles’ temple to reassure himself. Caleb and Boyd both shot him looks over their shoulders, confused and on edge, and Derek shook his head, mumbling an apology and not to worry.

 

Eventually they made it to the cruiser, and Derek stood next to the passenger door. He glanced between them all, and the vehicle, and then over to Caleb. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to have to break some laws…”

 

“Nah, just put Scott, Erica, and Stiles in the back, and I’ll run to Deaton’s,” Boyd said matter-of-factly.

 

“If you’re sure,” Caleb frowned.

 

Boyd nodded and pressed a kiss to Erica’s temple, who was finally starting to stir. They finagled the back doors open, and managed to get Scott, Stiles, and Erica settled in the back. Boyd took off at a full run in the direction of the clinic, and Derek got settled in the front seat. Caleb ran a hand through Stiles’ hair briefly, his expression worried, before getting into the front and starting the cruiser up.

 

“Are you okay, Derek?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek sighed and pressed his head back against the seat. “Let’s just get to Deaton’s.”

 

Caleb hummed and pulled out onto the road, turning them around and heading back towards the main highway. Derek turned his focus inwards, on the bonds, reassuring himself once more that everyone was okay. He wasn’t too worried about how frayed Scott’s bond to him felt; it was a miracle there was even a bond there to begin with. Danny must’ve been okay, too, because Isaac and Jackson’s emotions were stable and more or less calm. He thought they were lucky the skinwalker hadn’t killed Danny before they’d found them.

 

“Derek?” Caleb said, patting Derek’s shoulder, and Derek startled a bit as he refocused on the rest of the world.

 

They’d made it to Deaton’s during his musings, the veterinarian headed towards them with Jackson hot on his heels. Derek slipped out of the cruiser and opened the backdoor, shifting Stiles into his arms and moving to let Jackson get to Erica while Caleb pulled Scott out from the other side. Deaton made a thoughtful noise and directed them to a side door that led directly into the examination rooms.

 

Isaac jumped up and rushed over to Scott and Erica, checking them over before turning to his alpha. His eyes went wide as he rushed up to Derek, and gave a small distressed noise. “Is Stiles alright?”

 

“He’s just sleeping,” Derek said, though it didn’t really sound like he believed it, and sat down on the floor, cross-legged, with Stiles in his lap and against his chest. “Whatever he did wore him out.”

 

Jackson settled Erica on one of the tables and moved to sit down next to Derek, reaching out to brush a hand across Stiles’ arm. Danny, looking better and a little out of it, reached out too, flailing his hand until Isaac took it in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Danny smiled and nodded at the three on the floor, silently asking to join in the cuddling. Isaac helped him off of the table, and then into Isaac’s lap on Derek’s other side.

 

After Caleb settled Scott on the table Danny vacated, he dropped down in front of Derek to check over his son more thoroughly. Derek let him, eyes darting between Stiles and his unconscious betas. Jackson was pressed into his side, still pretty distressed, and Derek lifted his hand to squeeze the back of Jackson’s neck reassuringly.

 

Boyd came in a few moments later, making a beeline for Erica. She moved a bit, like she recognized her mate’s presence, and it looked as if her healing was working faster. Deaton stitched up a few deeper wounds on Scott’s stomach to help speed up his healing, and Derek felt almost settled. All he needed was Peter, and Lydia and Allison, and the pack would be whole and safe.

 

“Did either of you call Lydia and Allison?” Derek asked Jackson and Isaac.

 

“As soon as we were sure Danny would live,” Jackson confirmed. “Allison and Lydia said they’d take the next flight back.”

 

“Someone should call them to let them know everyone else is alive,” Isaac said and pressed his shoulder into Derek’s.

 

“Yeah,” Jackson murmured, and pulled his cell out of his pocket. He dialed Lydia’s number, and she answered after the first ring.

 

“ _Is everyone okay?_ ” She demanded immediately.

 

“Yeah, everyone’s alive. Erica and Scott got a little tore up, but Deaton’s taking care of them, and Stiles seems to be passed out for whatever reason, that has something to do with how he helped.”

 

“Let her know the skinwalker is dead and the body is being disposed of,” Derek said, and tilted his head back against the wall.

 

Jackson relayed the message, and Lydia made an approving sound. “ _Our flight leaves in a half hour. Allison let her dad know we’re cutting the trip early, so he’s probably going to pick us up. I’ll make sure we head straight to the Hale house when we get back to Beacon Hills._ ”

 

Peter slipped into the room just then as Deaton left, distracting Derek from listening to Jackson and Lydia. His uncle sidled over to them, wrapping himself around Caleb like a limpet and burying his face in the back of Caleb’s neck. He smelled like ash, and burning flesh, and Derek clung a little bit tighter to Stiles.

 

“Explain,” Derek demanded instead of thinking about the scents clinging to his uncle. “You said we had things to talk about later, about Stiles and Protectors, and now it’s later. So talk.”

 

“Should I start from the beginning?” Peter asked, glancing at Caleb.

 

“Obviously,” Derek grumbled, scowling at his uncle.

 

Caleb rolled his eyes and nodded, his hand absently petting Stiles’ hair. Peter wrapped his arms around Caleb’s waist, squeezing, and rested his chin on his mate’s shoulder as he eyed Derek, almost warily. Derek found it a little disconcerting, but he motioned for Peter to go on.

 

“Stiles, on Anwen’s side, comes from a long line of humans with, gifts. Anwen was precognitive, she dreamed the future, and what she dreamed always came true. She said, once, her father was able to manipulate fire, could light or extinguish one with the blink of an eye. Their family line is made up of generations upon generations of Protectors, a legend within the supernatural world.”

 

Derek nodded, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I remember hearing the stories. I thought they were just myths, though.”

 

“Most people do,” Peter made a face. “Protectors are rare. Or at least, they live out their entire lives not knowing about themselves or the legacy they’re a part of. Anwen wasn’t made aware of who she was until she was married and living in San Diego. Her father told her through a letter, with an old family story that he explained was more fact than fiction. It’s...sort of why I came back.

 

“This explanation is becoming too long-winded,” he grumbled, cutting himself off, and rubbed a hand down his face wearily. “The point, is: Stiles is a Protector, come from a very long line of them, and his great-great-great - I’m not actually sure how far back - grandfather struck a deal with the skinwalker based on some competition. Stiles’ idiot great-however-many-grandfather lost, and in so doing, condemned, per their deal, the offspring of the first female heir for some ritual. Apparently the children of female Protectors are very, very powerful Protectors themselves, and their blood can be used in rituals for immortality and the like.”

 

“Um,” Derek stared at his uncle. “Are you trying to tell me Stiles’ mother was the first female born to her family line in generations, and so the skinwalker went after Stiles to use his blood in some ritual?”

 

“Basically, yes.”

 

“And you knew this, _all of this_ , since before the skinwalker showed up.” It wasn’t even a question; Derek’s voice was flat and harsh. “You knew what the skinwalker was here for, and you _didn’t tell me_.”

 

The rest of the pack was still around them, frozen beneath Derek’s sudden, blinding fury. Peter tilted his chin up, defiantly, and untangled himself from Caleb so he could stand up. Derek felt a hot-cold flash of rage, and gently pushed Stiles into his father’s arms before standing up to loom over his uncle.

 

“Stiles could have been _killed_ ,” Derek snarled.

 

Peter’s face went cold and angry so fast Derek was reminded of Peter’s stint as an alpha, when he was insane and desperate. “I would never let that happen, not in any universe. Even when I was out of my mind, feral, some part of me remembered my promise to his mother, and I would _never betray Anwen_.”

 

Derek reared back like someone had slapped him in the face, feeling a hot rush of heartbroken anger. “But you would betray _Laura_ ,” he demanded, his voice cracking on Laura’s name, and felt a bitter sense of gratification when Peter flinched and finally broke eye contact.

 

“He didn’t tell you because he knew you’d be stubborn, and panic, and focus more effort on protecting Stiles, which would make it obvious to the skinwalker,” Caleb said in a low, pained voice, before Peter could respond, and Derek’s attention snapped over to the sheriff. “He didn’t tell you because he knew it’d be better for Stiles’ safety in the long run. He should’ve told you, the pack, all of us. He should’ve.”

 

“I wouldn’t change my decision if I could,” Peter stated, unrepentant, and gave Derek a challenging look. “Even before you fell in love with Stiles, you would’ve done everything to keep that boy safe, and that thing would’ve figured out who it was looking for long before we would’ve learned how to destroy it!”

 

Deaton reappeared in the room, looking as disapproving as his aloof personality could ever allow, and cleared his throat pointedly. Peter flashed his eyes and turned his back on the veterinarian, pacing away from Derek and the others. Derek turned to glare at Deaton, deflating a moment later as he caught sight of his injured pack members still passed out on the exam tables.

 

“May I ask why there’s yelling going on while two teenagers are trying to heal not five feet away?” Deaton asked mildly, though his eyes said someone had better answer.

 

“Ah, it’s pack business, doc,” Caleb said, and shifted Stiles around so he could stand up and still cradle his son to him. “I’m sure if they need to continue the discussion, Peter and Derek will take it outside.”

 

The veterinarian hummed and focused on Stiles. “Was he injured?”

 

“No,” Caleb said, and moved like he was going to shield Stiles from Deaton’s assessing gaze, a move that Derek approved of wholeheartedly. He would probably never be able to trust Deaton fully, and especially not with the most precious aspects of Derek’s life.

 

Peter made a noise and gave Deaton a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder. “He already knew that, though, right Deaton? Just like you knew about Stiles’ power.”

 

Deaton made a noncommittal noise. “I could sense his potential, yes.”

 

Derek frowned. “The mountain ash.”

 

“It was a test,” Deaton confirmed, and put his hands in his pockets. “And if he’s at all interested, I can teach him what I know.”

 

Peter laughed, mirthlessly, and Derek knew, in his gut, that there was a story there he wasn’t privy to. Deaton’s warning, when Peter was first resurrected, clear in his memory, and Peter’s obvious disdain for the veterinarian. Derek glanced between the two older men, curious.

 

“Like you were willing to help Anwen?”

 

“Different circumstances,” Deaton replied evenly.

 

Caleb was pale, eyes glowing faintly, and the others all stared between Deaton and Peter in confusion. Peter narrowed his eyes at Deaton, his own eyes flashing blue, and gestured at Caleb and Stiles. Deaton raised his eyebrows placidly.

 

A warm, glowing thrum in the back of Derek’s mind yanked his full attention to Stiles. It was like being wrapped in a thick blanket, only mentally, and everything felt bright, growing brighter as he realized Stiles was beginning to come to. Derek must’ve made a noise, because everyone went quiet and stared at him as he watched Stiles breathing softly against the rough material of his father’s uniform. He didn’t understand why he knew Stiles was waking up, because Stiles wasn’t actually there yet - his heart was still slow and steady with sleep.

 

“Everyone needs to shut up,” Derek muttered, and moved towards Stiles. “He’s starting to wake up, and he doesn’t need to wake up to this shit.”

 

“How can you possibly know he’s waking up? His heart is still sleep-slow!” Jackson demanded incredulously, snapping the tense atmosphere.

 

Derek shook his head and pressed his fingers against Stiles’ bare arm. “I can feel him, in the back of my head,” he looked to Peter. “Is that even normal?”

 

“No,” Deaton answered instead. “It’s not normal, because what you and Stiles have is not exactly a mate bond.”

 

“What,” Derek started, weakly.

 

“A conversation best had in privacy, and with both you and Stiles. I'll be in my office,” Deaton said and went back to the front of the clinic before anyone could say anything else.

 

Stiles mumbled something, his heartbeat picking up, and shifted in his father’s arms. His eyes fluttered open after a short, silent moment, and darted around as he took in his surroundings, took in the pack well and alive. The relief Stiles felt hit Derek like a lead pipe to the gut, a twin sensation to his own, as a nebulous and complicated web of emotions slotted into place somewhere behind Derek’s ribs.

 

“Derek?”

 

* * *

 

The first thing he registered was the thick tangle of warmth and feeling behind his ribcage, emotions that were emphatically not his, a complete awareness of Derek in the back of his head and rapidly spreading throughout the rest of him. The only thing Stiles could feel was relief, because that meant Derek was _alive_. It allowed him the presence of mind to crack open his eyes, even as his voice, raw and shredded like he’d been screaming for hours, asked for Derek.

 

Hands passed him off from one solid wall of comforting heat to another, and Stiles knew without having to actually comprehend anything he was seeing that he was in Derek’s arms. He was too tired to protest, though, and being held by Derek felt nice.

 

“Is e’ryone ‘kay?” Stiles slurred, tempted to check the bonds himself, like he had in that clearing, but too exhausted to even try.

 

“Scott and Erica were, hurt, but they’ll be fine,” Derek murmured soothingly. “Danny’s okay, too, just a little weak from blood loss.”

 

“Lemme see them,” Stiles demanded, furrowing his brow as his eyes finally focused on the underside of Derek’s jaw.

 

Derek turned them around, and almost immediately the uninjured wolves swarmed them, petting at Stiles’ arms and shoulders until they were satisfied. Stiles felt warm affection slide through him, seeping into his bones as everyone reassured themselves. All they needed were Lydia and Allison, and they’d be whole, and Stiles could rest easily again.

 

Which startled him, because he hadn’t felt the pack to quite that extent before. It took him a moment, while he was pressing a hand to Scott’s forehead, to realize that those were Derek’s feelings, the pull of the pack on Derek, the way being an alpha made things more...more. Stiles was confused, because neither his dad nor Peter had said anything about feeling everything your mate felt, and Scott sure as hell would’ve mentioned being able to feel Allison’s emotions too, no matter how strained their friendship had become. Because Scott would always go to Stiles for werewolf stuff.

 

“What - ”

 

“Deaton wants to talk to us,” Derek said before Stiles could finish, and the tone of his voice was enough confirmation for Stiles that Derek could feel his emotions too, that it went both ways, and that it was not a normal thing.

 

Stiles nodded and wriggled until Derek set him on his feet, eyebrows drawn down in concern as he kept a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles gripped his forearms for support as a wave of dizziness washed over him. After another moment he was able to stand on his own.

 

“So, where’s Deaton?”

 

“His office,” Derek replied.

 

“He wants to talk to you two in _private,_ ” Jackson emphasized as his eyes narrowed and darted between Stiles and Derek.

 

“Ugh,” Stiles sighed, and started towards the door.

 

Derek followed him out into the small hallway, practically glued to Stiles’ back as they walked the few feet to Deaton’s office. Stiles stopped short, his hand on the doorknob, as his skin crawled, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck standing on end.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Stiles made a noise, and shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know.”

 

The door opened, startling them both, and Deaton smiled inscrutably at them. “Everything is fine,” he offered and moved out of the way, “Stiles just sensed the potential for danger, because of the steps I took to secure privacy. Your pack won’t be able to hear us, but you’ll be able to hear them.”

 

“Hm,” Stiles narrowed his eyes, and spared a millisecond to wonder if the distrust he was feeling was his or Derek’s. “Like a two-way mirror for hearing.”

 

“Something like that, yes.”

 

Derek glared. “Explain what you said earlier.”

 

Deaton ushered them into his office and shut the door behind them. “Stiles, I’m sure you’re wondering by now why the bond you completed isn’t functioning the way you know it’s supposed to?”

 

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders, avoiding Derek’s eyes. “Yeah…”

 

“Can you tell me what you’re both feeling?”

 

“I can feel Derek’s emotions - ”

 

“I’m feeling exactly what Stiles is feeling - ”

 

They both froze and stared at each other.

 

“Um,” Stiles cleared his throat and frowned. “I don’t understand. Peter, never said anything about this, when I started asking him questions about mate bonds in the beginning of the summer, and Scott sure as hell would’ve come to me if he’d started feeling everything Allison’s feeling.”

 

“This isn’t something that happens in mate bonds,” Derek said. “It’s just supposed to be a sense of the other, where you are and if you’re safe or in danger. Werewolves can hear their mates’ heartbeat from great distances.”

 

“That’s the same thing Peter told me, basically!”

 

“Stiles,” Deaton interrupted, startling them both, “I need you to tell me how you completed the bond.”

 

Stiles picked at the hem of his shirt, suddenly nervous. “I, uh...Derek wasn’t breathing, I don’t think he even had a pulse when I pulled him out of that lake. It, um, I panicked. A lot. And, um, visualized the bond as a chain made from gold and silver and platinum, with an unfinished link on my end. I imagined the link being completed, um, by pressing it to my chest?

 

“I sort of pictured myself holding it and pressing it into my sternum, so that it would be anchored to me the way it was anchored to Derek, in my mind.” Stiles wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his arms self-soothingly. “And then I imagined my will, like a tangible silver-white light full with everything I wanted, like Derek alive, fusing the link to me,” his voice started to crack. “And I chased my will down the chain and imagined it crashing into Derek’s soul.”

 

He didn’t want to sort through all the emotions tangled up in his head, Derek’s and his.

 

Deaton’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s,” he started, and considered them both for a moment. “I find it unsurprising, this. You’re unaware of exactly how powerful you are, Stiles.”

 

“Care telling us exactly what we have, Deaton?” Derek demanded, interrupting Deaton’s mumbling to himself.

 

“Well,” Deaton said, and narrowed his eyes at them. He blinked and nodded a moment later, an enigmatic smile stretching across his face. “Judging from your auras, and what Stiles described, and that you’re both feeling each other’s emotions...I’d say, while trying to save your life, Stiles accidentally bound your souls together. Hm, maybe not bound so much as exchanged pieces. Both of your auras suggest that you each contain a piece of the other’s soul.”

 

“I, we, what?”

 

“A soul bond?”

 

“ _Soul_ bond?”

 

“Indeed,” Deaton walked around his desk, taking a seat at it and beginning to rummage through the papers strewn over top. “Soul bonds are very, very rare, and the type you managed to create even more so. It is also permanent.”

 

“Permanent?” Stiles squeaked, a sharp, white-hot bolt of guilt slicing through him. Guilt that was all his own. Because he’d done this, and he’d done it without Derek’s consent. He’d taken away Derek’s choice, something he’d silently sworn to himself never to do.

 

He didn’t realize he’d started panicking until Derek whined and pressed up against his side, smoothing a hand across Stiles’ nape.

 

“Shh, Stiles, hey,” Derek was murmuring, his free hand gently rubbing Stiles’ chest. “It’s okay, breathe, just breathe, Stiles. C’mon, that’s it, just breathe.”

 

Stiles took in a shuddering breath, and turned to hide his face against Derek’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Derek’s skin, because apparently he was still shirtless. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, hey, don’t apologize, Stiles,” Derek whispered back, his hand cupping the back of Stiles’ head. “Don’t apologize, okay? There’s nothing to apologize for, absolutely nothing.”

 

“Derek,” Stiles croaked, biting back hysterical giggling. “Derek I just accidentally tied you to me, _permanently_. Oh my god, what the fuck does that even mean? Is that, does...like, more permanent than a mate bond? I feel like that’s a yes, or why would Deaton say anything?”

 

Derek wrapped his other arm around Stiles’ waist and squeezed him to his chest, his nose buried in the skin behind Stiles’ neck. “ _Please_ , Stiles, please don’t apologize. You…”

 

Stiles hugged Derek tightly, nails biting into the skin of Derek’s shoulders. He clenched his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions, everything too tangled for him to know whose was whose. He could only imagine how Derek seemed to be so calm, stuck in the middle of the storm with Stiles.

 

“Get him focused on something else,” Deaton’s voice said, from so very far away.

 

His face was wet, and Stiles vaguely wondered when he’d started crying, and why. Derek was making soothing noises, humming Laura’s favorite song in his ear. It was helping, a bit, focusing on Derek’s humming, and thinking about that day in the woods, Laura’s birthday, and how Derek had sung the parts of the song he could remember under his breath while Stiles held him.

 

“You know,” Derek murmured after a few minutes, “we’ve apparently got a new mystery. I’m gonna need you, oh research guru.”

 

Stiles laughed wetly. “You’re an asshole.”

 

“Yeah, but you don’t have much room to talk,” Derek replied, and pressed a kiss to the side of Stiles’ neck. “If you happen to know what can remove hearts without leaving a mark off the top of your head, I’ll buy you the next season of Supernatural.”

 

“It...what?”

  
Derek's chuckle was strained, stressed, but the question was enough to distract Stiles from the realization of what he'd done and how it didn't matter that Derek didn't seem to see it the way Stiles saw it. At least, temporarily. Better to focus on an immediate threat, and save the self-disgust for when they weren't all in danger of  _another_ unknown creature running around killing people.


	2. I've got your back (so fuck what they say)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott paused the game and sat up on the couch, frowning concernedly at Stiles. “Dude, I’m totally here for you, so you can tell me anything, okay? I know I’ve been a shitty friend in the past, but...I’m here for you, dude. Here, I’ll even shut my phone off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from Falling In Reverse's 'Born To Lead']
> 
> Relevant information: Kurt Wagner is Nightcrawler from the X-Men.  
> Xerxies was a gigantic help with the comic book stuff/talk. ~~(except for Kurt Wagner...I take full credit for Nightcrawler being Peter's favorite comic book character)~~

_I've got your back (so fuck what they say)_

* * *

Scott scrunched his face up at the tv and sighed as Stiles’ Princess Peach knocked his Toad off the track again. “Dude, you ever going to tell me what Deaton talked to you and Derek about?”

 

“You were unconscious, why do you have any knowledge that Deaton talked to Derek and me?”

 

“Isaac,” Scott said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, really, it should’ve been.

 

Stiles huffed and made Princess Peach knock Scott off the road again. “It…I haven’t even allowed myself to think about it, Scott. It’s….fucking terrifying, okay?”

 

Scott paused the game and sat up on the couch, frowning concernedly at Stiles. “Dude, I’m totally here for you, so you can tell me anything, okay? I know I’ve been a shitty friend in the past, but...I’m here for you, dude. Here, I’ll even shut my phone off.”

 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, shut it off, and set it down on the coffee table in front of them, along with the controller. Stiles made a face and set his own controller down, because he knew a determined Scott was a stubborn Scott and a stubborn Scott was a Scott Stiles could not win against. Unless it was about shenanigans involving too many energy drinks and running naked down the street at two in the morning. Fifteen was an awkward age for them.

 

“Ah, the days before werewolves,” Stiles said wistfully, and Scott just shook his head like he was remembering what Stiles was remembering.

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Ugh,” he sighed and grabbed up one of the throw pillows Peter bought over the summer - because his current thing was interior decorating and fashion, apparently - and hugged it to his chest, chewing on his thumbnail thoughtfully. “I accidentally bound Derek’s soul to mine, that day. Or, well, actually Deaton said I took part of his soul into me and put part of my soul into Derek?”

 

“Dude,” Scott said, eyes wide, “whoa.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Stiles snorted and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t fucking know how to feel about it, any of this. It’s... _insane_ , just, what the fuck? How...I was just trying to save his life.”

 

Scott made a consoling noise and shuffled across the cushions until he was pressed up against Stiles’ side. “So...what does it mean, exactly?”

 

Stiles took a deep breath and focused inwards. “Well, I can feel everything Derek’s feeling, and he can feel everything I’m feeling. I know exactly where he is, in _Redding_ , just so we’re clear. He’s like this warm glow in the back of my head and just under my ribs.”

 

“That’s…intense?” Scott tried, his eyebrows somewhere around his hairline, and wrapped an arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered and leaned into Scott, grateful for the comfort, grateful that Scott wasn’t losing it because nothing had been able to get Scott to actually like Derek, and Scott was still leaving, and Stiles needed to stop thinking about all that shit before _he_ lost it.

 

“I’m supposed to be learning how to control it, so that I can block out Derek’s emotions or block Derek from feeling mine, to avoid a potentially crippling overload or something. Like in case something scares the bejeezus out of me, Derek won’t be paralyzed with my fear and get hurt.”

 

“It sounds like it’s not going well?”

 

Stiles laughed sarcastically, his face expressionless, and grabbed up his controller. “‘ _Focus_ ,’ Deaton says, like I don’t fucking take medication just to be able to somewhat focus on schoolwork. It’s distracting, being able to feel everything Derek feels, and, really...I like it.”

 

Scott gave him a dubious look. “You _like_ it?”

 

“Yeah, it’s...comforting? I like knowing how happy I make him, or knowing that he’s sad, because it eliminates the guessing game and allows me to just show up with a box of Peter’s spiced cider mix and a book to read to him.”

 

“You,” Scott started, and shook his head fondly. “You have _no_ room to talk, anymore. You’re worse than me!”

 

“Lies!” Stiles squawked, pointing a finger in Scott’s face. “I have never once written poetry about Derek’s anything.”

 

Scott tackled Stiles into the sofa, laughing as he put him into a headlock. Stiles jabbed his fingers into Scott’s ribs in retaliation, tickling him until Scott was shoving Stiles away from him, choking on laughter. He retreated to the other side of couch, rubbing his sides as he tried to calm down.

 

“So,” Scott said between residual giggles, “how did your dad react to the news? He can’t be all that thrilled that you’re _soul bonded_ to Derek, even if he is cool with you two dating.”

 

Stiles made a face and sank further into the cushions. “Uh, he doesn’t know? Exactly, um. You’re the only person who knows, aside from Deaton, Derek, and me, about the soul bond. Dad’s under the impression that we’re mated, which, we are? I mean I think we are. I completed the mate bond, at least. Deaton said that was the catalyst, the format from which the soul bond formed. It’s all weird.”

 

“Don’t you think you should tell your dad, though?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed and wrinkled his nose. “Derek and I agreed we’d tell him after dinner tonight.”

 

“Oh, well, good luck! Hopefully he doesn’t react too terribly,” Scott said, trying to sound supportive.

 

“Don’t jinx me, dude,” Stiles whined and flopped sideways, sprawling across the empty couch cushions despondently. “Ugh, I feel like I’m going to my funeral, fuck. It’s like telling him I’m pregnant, I swear to god.”

 

Scott raised his brows. “I don’t think this is anything like telling your parent you’re pregnant, dude. Mostly because if you were pregnant, well…that’s a lot of awkward questions and confusing biology.”

 

“Yeah,” he grimaced and stared up at the ceiling. “But, Deaton says this bond is _permanent_ , and generally having a kid is also a permanent thing, just in a different way.”

 

“Hm, plus your dad would totally get over it the instant someone handed him the baby, if you were pregnant.”

 

“Fuck you, man,” Stiles grumbled. “Not cool.”

 

Scott laughed, prodding Stiles’ shoulder with his toes. “Your dad likes Derek, and he’s been cool with your relationship so far. It might take him a while to get over it, but all he wants is your happiness, so I can’t see him doing or saying much of anything.”

 

Stiles heaved a sigh and reached up to flick at Scott. “Shut up, dude, you’re not allowed to be reasonable about this.”

 

“Nah man, you’d be _lost_ without me.”

 

“ _Me_? Ha!” Stiles laughed so hard he started wheezing. “You’d be lost without me, not the other way around, you doofus.”

 

“Yeah,” Scott said, suddenly serious. “I really would be. Actually, I’d probably be dead. You’re the only reason I made it through all this werewolf crap.”

 

“Ugh, I can’t do the sappy right now, Scott,” Stiles groaned and threw one of the decorative pillows at Scott’s head.

 

Scott chuckled and caught the pillow before it could hit him, then laughed harder at Stiles’ indignant grumble. Stiles narrowed his eyes, calculating, and tackled Scott over the arm of the couch, the both of them landing with a loud, painful thump and tangled limbs.

 

That was how Peter found them a few minutes later, bickering goodnaturedly about Wonder Woman versus Thor. He leaned against the doorjamb, listening to Scott defend his reasoning behind naming Wonder Woman superior. Peter liked to think the only reason Scott hadn’t noticed him sooner was because he was too caught up in his passion.

 

“Peter!”

 

“You two should agree to disagree,” Peter said in greeting, and straightened up. “Thor and Wonder Woman are both excellent supers.”

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes, his gaze darting between Peter and the picture of Anwen and Stiles from his first little league game hanging next to Peter’s head. The werewolf quirked an eyebrow, amused. Scott seemed to sense where Stiles’ mind was going, because he made a noise and buried his face in a pillow.

 

“DC or Marvel?”

 

Peter smiled, said, “Kurt Wagner,” and walked back into the hallway.

 

“Who?” Scott asked as Stiles flapped his hands at the doorway.

 

“I _knew_ it!” Stiles half-shouted, jumping to his feet. “No one stops a Marvel versus DC argument with ‘you should agree to disagree’ unless they’ve been in an ongoing one!”

 

“Your father,” Peter snorted, fond. Stiles raced into the kitchen after Peter, his socks sliding across the floor tiles, and skidded into the pantry door. Peter shook his head as he started pulling the stuff out to make eggplant parmesan. “I do give him the benefit of the doubt, seeing as he was a huge fan of Wonder Woman, and he never bitched when I turned on the X-Men cartoons, but he is clearly mistaken.”

 

Scott raised his eyebrows at them. “What is _wrong_ with Wonder Woman?”

 

“Nothing,” they answered simultaneously, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter.

 

“There isn’t anything wrong with Wonder Woman, just DC.”

 

“Oookay,” Scott said, then frowned. “Isn’t Batman DC?”

 

“Shush, Scott,” Stiles said loftily. “Batman and I have a special understanding.”

 

Peter quirked an eyebrow at him. “Oh? Do tell.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and waved a hand at the kitchen like that was answer enough. “My mom.”

 

“Oh, yes, I remember,” Peter mumbled darkly. “The traitor.”

 

“Hey now!”

 

“Anwen only watched and read Batman because she found the villains fascinating,” Caleb said, stomping into the kitchen from the back door. “But I’m putting my foot down right now: _No_ Marvel versus DC arguments in this house.”

 

“Fine by me,” Stiles said.

 

“You’re only saying that because you know you can’t win,” Peter said over Stiles.

 

Caleb narrowed his eyes. “Watch it, Peter Parker, or I won’t help you with that web shooter.”

 

“ _Oh_ my god, I hate you both!” Stiles wailed, covering his ears. “Leave me to die!”

 

Scott’s face turned beet red, and he coughed awkwardly. “Uh, I’ve, um, dinner plans, with, uh, my mom and Allison and Mr. Argent, so, uh...yeah, bye!”

 

“Traitor!” Stiles shouted after Scott as he flew out of the house, and then turned a mutinous glare on his father and Peter. “ _You_ ,” he whined, “are _gross_.”

 

Peter smirked and sent Stiles a wink.

 

“Ugh!” Stiles retreated to the living room to shut the Wii off, and put the controllers away. He shut off the television and grabbed his phone up off of the coffee table before darting through the hallway, the kitchen, and down into the basement.

 

**_To Der-bear (4:17 P.M.):_ **

_omg please come SAVE ME FROM MY DAD AND YOUR UNCLE THEY’RE HORRIBLE PEOPLE I’M SCARRED FOR LIFE_

 

He sat down at his drumset, warming up while he waited for a reply from Derek. The wry amusement mixed with a sharp shard of warm fondness twisted through Stiles, clearly not his, a half minute before his phone lit up with a new message. Stiles grinned a little, kind of pleased - always pleased - that he could feel how he made Derek feel.

 

**_From Der-bear (4:21 P.M.):_ **

_i wondered why i was getting a horrified feeling from you...what did they do this time?_

 

**_To Der-bear (4:21 P.M.):_ **

_MY DAD MADE AN ALLUSION TO HIS SEX LIFE WITH PETER I’M NOT OKAY MY EARS THEY’RE BLEEDING SAVE MEEEEEEEEE_

 

There was an almost-immediate spike of horrified glee, like Derek was both horrified Stiles reminded him of Peter and Caleb’s relationship and what they probably did behind closed doors, and completely entertained that Stiles was being subjected to their mortifying innuendos.

 

**_To Der-bear (4:22 P.M.):_ **

_YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO FIND THAT FUNNY YOU DICKBAG_

 

**_From Der-bear (4:22 P.M.):_ **

_i see no reason to come subject myself to that before i have to_

 

Stiles pouted at his phone.

 

_**To Der-bear (4:22 P.M.):** _

_rude_

_**To Der-bear (4:22 P.M.):** _

_CRUEL_

_**To Der-bear (4:22 P.M.):** _

_PLEASE_

_**To Der-bear (4:23 P.M.):** _

_PLEEEEAAAAASSSSEEEEEEE!?_

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek said from the bottom of the stairs, startling Stiles so badly he flailed and sent his phone flying halfway across the room.

 

“You jackass!” Stiles cried, righting himself on his stool and scowling at Derek.

 

Derek smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Stiles’ breath got caught somewhere in his chest. This close to Derek, he wasn’t sure whose feelings were whose, not when they were both so warm and fuzzy and gooey and _sappy_.

 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Derek said, and scooped up Stiles’ phone before moving around the drums to press a kiss to Stiles’ temple.

 

Stiles hummed, leaned into Derek’s side, said, “true,” and nuzzled Derek’s hip, wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist and squeezing. The alpha carded his fingers through Stiles’ hair, massaging the scalp at the back of his head lightly for several long moments. Stiles sighed happily, delighting in the gooey, happy emotions looping between them.

 

Derek hummed contentedly, pulling away so he could sit cross-legged on the floor next to Stiles, his head propped up against Stiles’ hip. Stiles turned back to the drumset, readjusting so he wouldn’t accidentally elbow Derek in the face.

 

“What’re you practicing today?”

 

“I have to learn the percussion part for _‘Lil Red Riding Hood_. Then I have to learn my part for singing, because they’re making me sing in this one too.” Stiles huffed, and rolled his eyes when Derek felt a ribbon of fond amusement. “Apparently this video is going to be _elaborat_ e. It’s for Halloween, and Erica’s making us dress up and make an ‘actual music video’.”

 

“I think maybe you should be afraid,” Derek said. “You should probably be really afraid.”

 

Stiles made a face. “I already know, dude. There’s no way she’s not buying a Little Red Riding Hood costume, and there’s certainly no way she’s putting anyone but me in it.”

 

Derek hid his smile in Stiles’ shirt.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbled without heat, smiling fondly at the top of Derek’s head. “You’re not supposed to find my pain amusing, asshole.”

 

“Oh,” Derek said, sarcastic, and bumped his head against Stiles’ side. “Like you don’t -”

 

“Life is pain, highness,” Stiles interjected haughtily.

 

Derek huffed and nosed at the hem of Stiles’ shirt until he got a flash of skin, sinking his teeth into the jut of Stiles’ hip lightly in retaliation. Stiles yelped and jerked sideways, flailing off of the stool and landing in a tangled heap of limbs and headphone cords. Derek’s silent laughter was a bright cord of vibrant yellow, warm where it coiled around Stiles’ heart.

 

He grinned at the werewolf, basking in the joy and letting it wash away his stress and worries. It was nice, and much of the time Stiles couldn’t imagine there being any disadvantages to their soul bond. He couldn’t imagine a disadvantage to feeling how happy Derek was, when he knew how broken and numb and alone Derek used to feel when he first returned to Beacon Hills.

 

“We should watch some _Game of Thrones_ before dinner,” Derek murmured, pushing the stool from between them and reaching out a hand to wrap around Stiles’ ankle. He pulled Stiles to him, manhandled him into Derek’s lap, and nuzzled his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck. The joy was looping between them, and Stiles felt a little bit high with it. Not that he knew what being high felt like.

 

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan,” Stiles mumbled.

 

They sat on the basement floor for another fifteen minutes before either of them bothered to put that plan into motion.

 

Eventually they made it upstairs, where Derek settled into his corner of the couch while Stiles set up the bluray player and grabbed up the remote. He pulled Stiles into his lap, hummed happily when the human snuggled further back into Derek, and pressed his nose against the side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles relaxed against the alpha’s chest and started episode five.

 

Caleb called them to the dining room just as they were finishing up ‘ _A Golden Crown_ ’. Derek was frighteningly satisfied as he led the way, like watching someone have molten gold poured on their head was the best thing he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Stiles thought it was the cutest fucking thing. Derek had the most ridiculous crush on Dany, and it was _adorable_. Not that Derek thought Stiles had much room to talk, with his massive squish on Tyrion.

 

“This smells incredible,” Derek complimented as he stood beside the table, waiting for Caleb to take a seat.

 

“I hope it tastes as good as it smells,” Peter huffed, “I used Anwen’s recipe.”

 

Stiles’ heart gave a little stutter as he sat down next to Derek, across from his dad and Peter. He’d never been able to bring himself to crack open her cookbook, so everything he’d ever made came from recipes he’d found on the internet. The mere idea he could be eating something that _migh_ t taste like what his mom used to make was equal parts exciting and painful. Derek grabbed his hand and laced their fingers, giving them a small, comforting squeeze.

 

Caleb dove into the dish first, eyes widening as he chewed. “This is almost perfect,” he said. “Almost exactly like Anwen’s.”

 

Peter smiled, a little somberly, and scooped out some eggplant parmesan for Derek and Stiles before taking some for himself. They ate in silence, aside from Stiles’ initial delighted reaction upon his first bite, for most of the meal. Derek and Stiles were both stiff in their seats, tense. Peter’s eyes kept darting between them, and Caleb ignored the charged atmosphere entirely as he ate.

 

Eventually, though, he sighed and set his knife and fork down. “I know you wanted to tell me something. What is it?”

 

Stiles twitched forward as Caleb reached for the garlic bread, like he was going to slap his father’s hand away from it out of habit. Instead, he touched his mouth, a nervous habit Derek noted months and months earlier. Derek reached a hand out, brushing his fingertips across the back of Stiles’ neck soothingly. Stiles glanced at him with a small smile before squaring his shoulders and focusing his full attention on Caleb.

 

“So, dad, uh,” he started, stopped, fidgeted with his silverware, and his brow furrowed as he searched for the right words.

 

Caleb set the piece of garlic bread down, his face shifting into a concerned frown as he waited for Stiles to continue. When he didn’t, Derek cleared his throat and pushed his empty plate away before meeting Caleb’s eyes. He seemed to sense the sudden seriousness, because he too pushed his plate away and gave Derek and Stiles his undivided attention.

 

“What is it, son?”

 

Stiles choked back an hysterical laugh and stared determinedly at the tablecloth. Derek grabbed Stiles’ left hand, closing his fingers around Stiles’ to stop the fidgeting. Stiles swallowed, took a deep breath in through his nose, and exhaled a drawn out, “H’okay.”

 

“So… I’m apparently much more powerful than previously thought or realized, according to one Alan Deaton,” Stiles said, and ran his free hand down his face. “I may have, uh, _accidentally_ bound mine and Derek’s souls when I tried saving his life that day with the skinwalker and the lake and the drowning and -”

 

“Stiles!”

 

“Right! Sorry, um,” Stiles cringed and peered at Caleb through his lashes. “But, well, _bound_ is maybe not the right word? The way Deaton explained it, I sort of took a piece of Derek’s soul into me and replaced his missing piece with a piece of mine? Like, imagine our souls as two pairs of those generic friendship necklaces you can get at the mall, right? Now picture Derek’s as, like, the blue ones and mine as the, um, orange ones? And when I tried saving his life by completing the mate bond I accidentally over did it and took one of my orange ones and one of his blue ones and exchanged them.”

 

Caleb blinked. Stayed silent for long enough Stiles started fidgeting again.

 

Eventually, he shook his head and sighed. “Only you, kid, could accidentally trade pieces of your soul with someone else.”

 

“You’re not mad?”

 

“Should I be?” Caleb quirked a brow. “You didn’t do it on purpose, Stiles, and even if you had it’s already done and over with so there’s nothing I could do or say. It doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about what this is going to mean for you, both of you, but… I’m not angry, kiddo.”

 

Stiles slumped back in his chair and gave a relieved sigh. “Oh thank god.”

 

Derek huffed and smiled fondly.

 

“Is that what had you so worried?” Caleb asked and pulled his food back to him.

 

“Partly,” Stiles said, wrinkled his nose a little at the wisps of guilt that twined around his stomach and squeezed until it was hard for him to focus on anything else. Derek made a concerned noise, worry and distress and confusion washing over the bond and drowning out the previous happy mood they’d both been in.

 

“Stiles?”

 

“It’s alright,” Stiles said, squashing the guilt down. He’d had enough practice over the years that it wasn’t all that hard. “Hey! We should all play Monopoly!”

 

“Oh, that sounds like fun. We haven’t played Monopoly since you and Scott were thirteen and easily conned into giving me your properties for cheap.” Caleb grinned around a mouthful of garlic bread.

  
“I knew you cheated!” Stiles hissed, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t think I can be so easily fooled this time around!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are varying definitions on the word squish, as with any word really. Everyone defines things differently, even if their definitions are very similar. ~~okay stop before you get into it, Dae~~ For me, I define squish as a platonic crush (if that makes any sense?). Basically, "Stiles' squish on Tyrion" translates to (in my head) "Stiles wants to be best buds with Tyrion". ~~meanwhile Derek just has that fan crush on Daenerys that each and every one of us has on Derek or Stiles (or any of the other characters really)~~


	3. learning, learning, who can take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ugh!” Stiles groaned, and collapsed against his dresser dramatically. “You’re going to kill me, holy hell.”_
> 
> _“Just imagine there’s curly fries at the end of the trail,” Boyd teased._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from The Replacements' 'Fuck School']
> 
> Ah! I'm so sorry this is so late! I had a bit of a minor family emergency thing last weekend, and then this week work was all kinds of crazy that left me super exhausted on top of my insomnia acting up. And then I meant to post it early Saturday afternoon but, uh, that didn't happen because _migraine_. So sorry, again, for taking so long to update!
> 
> As like a general disclaimer: Stiles' sexual orientation is discussed a bit, and I just want to remind everyone that there is no one way to be demisexual/ace.

_~learning, learning, who can take~_

* * *

“Wake up, Stiles,” Boyd said, voice flat, and kicked the end of Stiles’ bed.

 

Stiles flailed awake, falling in a tangled heap on the floor. He groaned and glowered up at Boyd, then glared at his alarm clock. Boyd raised a brow, dressed in his running shorts and a green tank top, and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“You’re not getting out of running, man, get up,” he said, and turned on his heel, gliding out of Stiles’ room just as quietly as he’d come in.

 

“It’s too early for this, man,” Stiles whined, and rolled around on the floor. “You’re the devil!”

 

“ _You_ asked me to go running with you in the mornings. I’m the one altering my usual schedule to accommodate your slow ass,” Boyd said flatly, reappearing in the bedroom, and dropped Stiles’ gym shorts on his face.

 

Stiles whined pitifully and pouted up at Boyd. The werewolf stared back impassively, and Stiles sighed in defeat as he sat up and untangled himself from his bedding. Boyd raised a single, judgemental brow, and leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

“I know, I know,” Stiles said, and stood up, tossing his sheet and blanket back onto his bed. “I really do appreciate you running with me and shit, I just hate waking up early.”

 

Boyd smiled and shrugged. “You’ve gotten better. You actually keep up now. Think you can get four miles in today?”

 

“Ugh!” Stiles groaned, and collapsed against his dresser dramatically. “You’re going to kill me, holy hell.”

 

“Just imagine there’s curly fries at the end of the trail,” Boyd teased.

 

“Ha fucking ha, dick,” Stiles grinned. “Hilarious. I’m gonna go piss and change, and then we can head out.”

 

“Excellent, I can add that to the book I’m not fucking writing about when you relieve your bladder.”

 

Stiles batted his eyelashes at Boyd, fanning himself. “Oh, Boyd, you say the sweetest things!”

 

Boyd snorted and walked out of the bedroom. “Stop procrastinating!”

 

“Rude!” Stiles shouted back, and smiled when he heard the werewolf getting into the refrigerator. He changed, went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and headed downstairs. Boyd was in the living room, a bottle of lemon-lime gatorade in his hand and a bottle of grape gatorade sitting on the coffee table for Stiles, watching early morning cartoons. Stiles sat in the armchair, pulling on his shoes as he listened to Spongebob.

 

“You wanna come hang out with Erica and me after? We were thinking about hitting a matinee movie and stopping by the mall,” Boyd said when Stiles stood up and grabbed his gatorade, shutting the tv off and standing up to follow Stiles out of the house and over to the jeep.

 

Stiles smiled. “Sounds great.”

 

“Cool.”

 

They got in the jeep and Stiles drove them to the Preserve, parking near one of the trail entrances. They warmed up a little, then Boyd made them run a half mile before stretching some more. Stiles liked running, despite his bitching. It allowed him to multitask on a level that usually seemed to baffle other people. Running didn’t clear his head the way it apparently did for Boyd, it just let him...focus better, on multiple things at once.

 

He focused on the bond while he ran, tried to find where he ended and Derek began. There was guilt lurking in the back of his head, licking at his consciousness, and Stiles locked it away in the darkest corners of his mind, with the guilt he carried from his mother's death lurked. He didn’t want to think about how their bond had formed, at all. Ever. _Never ever_. It didn’t matter that Derek wasn’t perturbed by the bond’s creation.

 

Boyd stopped them after two and a half miles, made Stiles stretch some more and drink some water. He was quiet, which wasn’t anything unusual. They’d been running together for months now, and Boyd was always pretty quiet. But he was watching Stiles like he knew where Stiles’ mind had wandered without his permission.

 

Stiles pushed himself to finish the last mile and a half as quickly as he could, and Boyd didn’t say anything when he collapsed into the dirt a few feet from the jeep. He just handed Stiles a fresh bottle of water he’d grabbed from the cooler in the back of the jeep and sat down next to him. Stiles downed the entire thing gratefully, then his gatorade when Boyd handed him that.

 

After a while, Stiles sighed. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

 

“Only when I’m not telling you like it is,” Boyd replied. “You know Derek’s okay with whatever happened between you two, right? I don’t know much, but I know it’s not a typical mate bond, and I know it wouldn’t have happened however it happened if you weren’t so powerful; the fact that you clearly didn’t mean to and are completely wrecked over doing whatever without his consent says a lot.”

 

Stiles grumbled wordlessly and wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt. “I created this - according to Deaton - really rare soul bond when I saved Derek from drowning. He wasn’t breathing, and I… I guess I just panicked. Peter had told me about the half-formed mate bond on the way to the clearing, and I knew if I completed it it would boost Derek’s healing and stuff. Except, apparently I over did it and exchanged bits of our souls.”

 

“Wow, that’s pretty intense,” Boyd said, and glanced at his cell phone. “We better get back so we can both shower if we wanna be ready to go when Erica gets to my house.”

 

“You’re kind of the best, seriously,” Stiles said, and stood up with a groan. “Thanks.”

 

“You aren’t ready to believe that you don’t have to punish yourself for what happened, and I can respect that,” Boyd replied, and walked passed Stiles to the jeep, leaving the human gaping after him for a moment.

 

Stiles dropped Boyd off at his house before heading home to shower and change. Peter distracted him with an art question on his way out, and he ended up leaving later than he’d meant to. Erica was already there when Stiles got to Boyd’s, he could hear her complaining loudly about having to take an art class because apparently her writing workshop didn’t go towards the fine arts credit like it was supposed to. Stiles rolled his eyes - okay, he had to take first year art too, but he was okay with that because he’d sort of put off taking care of the fine arts credit - and headed up towards Boyd’s room after his grandmother let Stiles in.

 

“Just take a music class,” Stiles said, stepping into Boyd’s bedroom.

 

“I am,” Erica said, and then threw a wadded up piece of paper at Stiles’ head. “You’re _late_ , Batman.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles winced and bent down to grab the paper. “Peter asked me a question right as I was headed towards the door and I got sidetracked.”

 

Erica rolled her eyes and pointed at Boyd’s bed. “Well, sit down and help Boyd pick a movie to see. We didn’t really have a specific movie in mind, so.”

 

Stiles flopped down on the bed sideways, grinning crookedly up at Boyd. “Is _Pacific Rim_ still playing? I’d watch it again.”

 

Boyd frowned thoughtfully and pulled up the movie theater’s website. He smiled after a moment, nudging Stiles’ leg. “It’s your lucky day, man. Today’s the last day it’s gonna be here.”

 

“Awesome,” Stiles crowed happily and fist pumped the air.

 

“Good, that’s settled then,” Erica grinned, and turned to Boyd’s closet. “I want to wear one of your jerseys, Boyd.”

 

“You know where they are.”

 

“I wasn’t asking your permission,” Erica teased, smiling, and started rifling through the things hanging in the closet. “Who’s ready for school?”

 

“Not me,” Stiles declared. “I’m gonna be stuck with Harris again, and I don’t think any of the faculty realizes how much that fucker hates me.”

 

“Jackson did mention once that Harris had it out for you,” Boyd said, looking incensed .

 

“He _does,_ ” Stiles groaned, a hand coming up to scrub at his face in frustration. “He fucking despises me, and I’m pretty sure it’s half because of my ADHD and half because he was a fucking suspect for all that stuff going down sophomore year and my dad questioned him.”

 

“Well, you’re gonna have to either say something or soldier on through, Batman,” Erica said. “We start school in, what, three, four weeks?”

 

“But I don’t wanna go back!” Stiles whined, and flailed around until his upper body was hanging upside down off the side of Boyd’s bed while he watched Erica debate between flaunting Boyd’s CC jersey or his lacrosse jersey.

 

Boyd snorted and leaned over enough to jab his fingers into Stiles’ side. “Get over it, Stiles.”

 

“At least it’s senior year,” Erica said enthusiastically, stripping out of her t-shirt.

 

Stiles shrieked dramatically and slapped his hands over his eyes. “Erica! Have you no decency!? No _shame_?!”

 

Erica grinned and tugged Boyd’s lacrosse jersey over her head. “Nope.”

 

“Boyd,” Stiles whined, drawing out Boyd’s name in the middle as he flapped his hand at him, “your girlfriend is being naughty!”

 

“Your point?” Boyd shrugged and shuffled over to his acoustic guitar, lifting it into his lap and tuning it. “It’s not like you’re gonna use any of her nakedness as fodder for your spank bank.” He paused for a moment, turned to frown at Stiles. “Actually, are you uncomfortable?”

 

Stiles tried not to feel the warm fondness that was creeping up his spine. “Not really, no. She’s wearing a bra, for one.”

 

“And she’s standing right here,” Erica grumbled, glaring. “Do you really think Boyd could do a damn thing about my debatable naughtiness?”

 

“No?” Stiles made a face. “I just felt like whining. If you think Lydia hasn’t paraded around in less clothing in front of me, you’re mistaken. And I whine about that too, even though it doesn’t actually make me uncomfortable.”

 

Erica made a thoughtful noise. “I...did I make you uncomfortable, before, when I used my sexuality as a weapon against you?”

 

“Uh, well, a little? I didn’t really know you and suddenly you were all up in my face with your new wardrobe and while I am very much not interested in boning you, I’m not actually incapable of finding someone aesthetically attractive. Like I appreciate that you’re gorgeous, but at that time I was a little freaked out because you were pretty aggressive and I had no idea what you wanted from me” Stiles shrugged his shoulders into the floor, and let his hips and legs fall sideways off of the bed with a thump. “Tell me how this conversation got turned into a mini-lesson on my sexuality, please?”

 

“We were ensuring that you weren’t actually uncomfortable and making jokes to laugh it off, because we’re good people,” Erica suggested with a smile and a wink. She sobered, then, said, “I just don’t want to do something that would make you uncomfortable, okay?”

 

“Same,” Boyd interjected, and shrugged when Stiles gave him a look. “You’re my friend, and I’m not about making my friends uncomfortable. This is something I never really asked you about, and I’d just like to know where your boundaries are. I know a couple people who get really uncomfortable when sex is brought up.”

 

The fondness swallowed Stiles whole, and he kicked Boyd’s foot. “You guys are pretty great, have I ever mentioned that?”

 

“No, but we forgive you,” Erica smiled and Boyd rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh, good, I can sleep at night now,” Stiles shot back, grinning, and rolled onto his back on the floor. “But seriously, I do not want to go back to school. How am I supposed to find time for school _and_ researching supernatural leads on this fucking mystery beast!? And Derek and my dad both _agree_ that I should probably start training with _Chris Argent_ in hand-to-hand and shit.”

 

Boyd raised his eyebrows. “ _Derek_ thinks you should train with Argent? Can’t your dad do that?”

 

Stiles shrugged and sighed, rubbing his hands across the carpet rhythmically. “My dad’s gonna start teaching me how to use a gun, for reals. I already know the basics; how to turn the safety off and on, that stuff, but he decided I should know how to fire one, how to aim and hit the mark.”

 

“It’s not actually a bad idea, Stiles,” Erica said, kicking his thigh. “You need to know how to defend yourself, because sometimes running away isn’t an option, and you can’t always depend on your magic or whatever it is to save you all the time.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but that doesn’t mean I wanna train with Chris Argent. He’s not as psycho as the rest of his family, but he’s still fucking creepy.”

 

“No, I agree one hundred percent, but I highly doubt Derek’s going to let you anywhere near Chris Argent by yourself.”

 

Stiles peered up at Boyd. “You sayin’ I’m gonna have my own personal werewolf bodyguard?”

 

Boyd gave him a flat look and started playing FOB, warming up. Stiles narrowed his eyes and joined in, drumming his hands against his thighs. Erica hummed along for a moment, probably finding where they were, and picked up with the chorus:

 

_“One night and one more time! Thanks for the memories even though they weren’t so great; he tastes like you only sweeter.”_

 

“This song always made me think some guy cheated on his girlfriend with another dude,” Stiles said, making Boyd falter and Erica laugh so hard she fell off of her perch on top of Boyd’s desk.

 

“Oh my god, Stiles, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“What? It’s in the lyrics! ‘He tastes like you only sweeter’?” Stiles sent them a mock-affronted look. “Fine, maybe he’s not quite cheating on his girlfriend so much as leaving her for a dude? Or both. It’s both, isn’t it?”

 

“Why am I friends with you again?”

 

“Hey! You love me, don’t even deny it!”

 

“It’s a miracle my grandmother hasn’t come and told us to be quieter,” Boyd mumbled.

 

Erica snorted and dropped onto his bed, snuggling into Boyd’s side. “She probably thinks we’re having a threesome.”

 

“...wow,” Stiles said. “Why does your grandmother think these things?”

 

Boyd shrugged and nosed at Erica’s hair. “Probably because when she was my age, she was very adventurous. Or so she claims.”

 

“Ew,” Erica whined, smacking a hand on Boyd’s thigh. “Now I’m picturing your grandma having wild wild sex with faceless people, what the fuck.”

 

“And this conversation has left the territory of comfortable, passed by awkward, and flew straight into _nope_. I think I should go home, erase the last twenty minutes from my brain, and drown myself in a rewatch of _Supernatural_ or something,” Stiles grimaced and sat up.

 

“Oh, sure, _you’re_ grossed out. She’s _my_ grandmother, Jesus Christ Erica,” Boyd bitched, scowling at his mate.

 

Erica made a face. “It’s not like I _wanted_ that mental image.”

 

“There are so many things wrong with you, I swear,” Stiles mumbled. “I’m gonna have nightmares.”

 

“ _You_?” Boyd all but shrieked, incredulous. “ _You’re_ going to have nightmares?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “Sorry, man,” he gave a little grin and ducked the music book Boyd tossed at his head. “In all seriousness, though, we should totally go to the movie theater if we don’t want to miss the beginning.”

 

“You think we should hit up that diner on Fifth afterwards?,” Erica asked them, and Stiles smiled.

  
“Dude, _yes_. They have the best curly fries ever!”


	4. interlude: i see what's in your eyes and i know what's in your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [interlude title taken from I'm From Barcelona's 'The Painter']
> 
> So, interlude chapter. Same concept as in How Do I Live. And yes, the name is a slight - _slight_ \- nod to 3a. Mostly because I like that name. 
> 
> Oh! And if you haven't, there's a link in the end notes (fic end notes, not chapter, there are no end notes for this chapter) for a small missing scene set between chapters 1 and 2 that you can check out, if you so wish.

_~interlude: i see what's in your eyes and i know what's in your heart_

* * *

 

Her last class of the day consisted of ten freshman, and three seniors. It was possible the freshman were there because they had an active interest in art, and it was possible they’d continue on into the upper level classes as they moved through high school. The seniors, well. Heather was resigned to dealing with three young adults who were only there because they needed a fine art credit to graduate. She wasn’t expecting for them to put much effort into the class.

She wrote her name on the whiteboard in neat letters, and hid in the storage room with the extra supplies. The kids were noisy as they came in, still excited about the new school year. The bell rang, and she frowned thoughtfully at some of the stuff she’d saved over from previous art students. It might make a nice display, something to get the freshman enthusiastic about continuing on with art.

Heather was allowed to be hopeful that it’d also get one of the seniors a little more interested in art, too.

It was never too late.

“There’re packets on the shelf at the front,” Heather declared as she stepped out of the storage room and the class slowly fell silent. “Each of you needs one before you leave here today. It contains all the information you need about this class. Now, let’s start: What is art?”

“Undefinable,” a voice called out from the middle.

Heather widened her eyes just a bit and took a small step to the side so she could see the owner of the voice. “Interesting, now tell me why you think that.”

The kid drummed his fingers against the table top. “Because no one actually agrees about what art is. You can walk into a museum and see what looks to you like a pile of trash, while someone else will walk in and see it and wanna pay thousands of dollars for it. Some people don’t think writing or music is art, because it’s not being drawn or painted or sculpted.”

“Hmm,” Heather bit back a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Stiles,” the kid said.

He was one of her seniors. Heather decided that display was going up after all. It really was never too late.

“Well, Stiles, thank you for your opinion. It’s definitely one I’ve never heard, before,” Heather smiled primly and picked up a stack of blank papers. “Well, because this is a high school with a curriculum that thinks it knows what art is, we’ll be sticking to drawing, painting, sculpting clay, your ‘basics’. If we get through all the units I have to teach you based on state guidelines, we’ll see about doing other stuff.”

Heather passed out the papers and placed a box of markers, crayons, colored pencils, and number two pencils on each table top. “What we’re going to do today is introduce ourselves with our art. Draw you, draw what makes you you. While you’re doing that, I’m going to be at the back of the classroom setting up a display of my past students’ works. I want you to see what they thought art was, and maybe it’ll help you shape your own definition of art.”

The students set to it with minimal grumbling and groaning, and Heather disappeared into the storage room to grab up the box of paintings and sculptures, ect., carrying it to the back of the classroom and standing back a few feet as she decided how she wanted to set the display up.

A half hour later, five minutes left until the final bell, Heather walked along the tables to take a peek at everyone’s papers. “If you guys want, feel free to go check out the display after you’ve cleaned up your area.”

Stiles’ paper had a sketch of a wolf pack, rough but not bad for a beginner, running alongside a kid with no hair and big eyes. He sent her a sheepish smile, shrugged, and tucked the paper into a folder, slid it into his backpack, and walked over to check out the display. Heather ducked her head to hide the pleased smile, and finished making her round through the classroom just as the final bell rung.

“Ms. Rhodes?” Stiles called after the classroom was empty of everyone but them.

Heather turned and blinked, suddenly concerned by the wide, shocky brown eyes blinking at him. “Are you okay, Stiles?”

“Wha? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” he reassured, turning back to stare at a couple pieces in particular. “I was just wondering...is...the initials on these are SLH. That stands for Skylar Lynn Hale, right?”

“Yes,” Heather said slowly, moving to stand next to him. “I was a little afraid to set them out, to be honest. They’re very precious.”

“Yeah...yeah they are,” he said softly, and cleared his throat. “Did you know that the fire destroyed all of Sky’s artwork, and that that destroyed Peter Hale, when he came out of his vegetative state and learned about it? And Sky’s little brother, Derek.”

“You know them?” Heather asked, a little surprised.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, with a private little smile. “You could say that.”

“Stiles! C’mon man, you’re my ride home today!”

“Crap, sorry Isaac! I’ll see you tomorrow Ms. Rhodes!”

  
“Bye, Stiles,” Heather said, and watched him race out of the classroom, throwing his arm around the shoulders of a tall blond boy who resembled Camden Lahey quite a bit. Her thoughts shifted to Sky, and the Hales, and Heather had to busy herself with cleaning up the art supplies before she could start down that road.


	5. (I don't mind) having you around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from July Talk's 'Having You Around']
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be up last week, but...uh, I suffered some technical difficulties which sort of kept me from working on the fic. Also the chapter is still shorter than what I wanted, but longer than what I'd originally had. >_> ~~maybe the gratuitous amounts of fluff will make up for it!~~ No but really this chapter is like pure fluff. Also _A Game of Thrones_ / _Game of Thrones_ and _Elementary_ (for those of you who don't know, it's the American retelling of modernized Sherlock Holmes stories...uh, sort of? IDK how to explain, you'd probably be better off googling it because I'll just excitedly mumble incoherently about it instead of giving you an actual explanation. Also Lucy Liu plays Watson, and it's the greatest). Because Hoechlin loves GoT (as do I) and _Elementary_ is boss. ~~also it's my fic and I do what I want~~

_~(I don't mind) having you around~_

Stiles was exhausted. Derek could feel it, which was weird because exhaustion wasn’t necessarily an emotion. Mostly he was just glad that feeling how tired Stiles was didn’t make Derek tired.

Derek went into the kitchen and frowned at the island for a moment, assessing. The bond told him Stiles was coming from Deaton’s - probably another training session - and that he was also feeling frustrated and dejected on top of being tired. Derek got a mug down and pulled the stuff for hot cocoa out of the pantry, filling a pot with water to put on the stove to heat up. He went upstairs and into the library, dug up his copy of _A Game of Thrones_ because they’d decided to start reading it a month ago, and Derek figured he could read to Stiles today, instead.

Stiles shoved through the front door just as Derek was putting the finishing touches on the hot cocoa, and the teen made an exuberant noise when he caught scent of it. Derek snagged the book and Stiles’ favorite fuzzy blanket from the hall closet before ushering Stiles onto the couch in the living room, shoving the mug into Stiles’ waiting hands and sitting down next to him. He wrapped the blanket around them both after Stiles shifted around to his most comfortable spot - namely, with Derek’s back up against the arm of the couch and Stiles leaned back against the alpha’s chest.

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbled around the mug. The cinnamon and hazelnut Derek added to the cocoa smelled frighteningly intoxicating mixed with Stiles’ scent, and the werewolf pressed his nose to the back of his mate’s neck.

“Hard session today?”

“Ugh, yes,” Stiles heaved a sigh and snuggled further back into Derek. “Deaton wants me to give my complete focus to controlling the emotional feedback I’m getting from you, but he doesn’t seem to comprehend that I have ADHD and this shit is difficult, because _I don’t want to_. I like getting feedback from you.”

“Hm,” Derek hummed and pressed a kiss to the skin just behind Stiles’ left ear. “How about we read _A Game of Thrones_ for a while, then?”

“Oooh, yes,” Stiles cheered, nearly spilling hot cocoa all over himself.

Derek laughed softly and moved the book around and up so that he could see the pages. “I thought I’d read to you, for a change.”

Stiles smiled and settled his head between Derek’s neck and shoulder. “That sounds nice.”

“Good,” Derek smiled and waited for Stiles to study the map in the front of the book. When Stiles finished, he turned to the prologue, cleared his throat, and started reading.

“Aren’t you guys watching the show? Shouldn’t you have read the book _before_ you started watching the show?” Erica said, tone judgemental as she eyed them from the doorway to the foyer. Derek and Stiles both shot her an annoyed look, Derek’s voice stuttering to a halt as Erica sauntered into the room.

Stiles huffed and pulled the book out of Derek’s hands. “Derek doesn’t like watching things based on books if he’s already read the book. And I understand his point.”

“The book isn’t ruined, if I do it this way,” Derek grumbled defensively when Erica quirked a brow at him.

Erica snorted and dropped down into the armchair. “Jackson and Scott got into a fight at Cross Country practice, today.”

“Seriously?” Stiles groaned incredulously, dropping his head back on Derek’s shoulder and sighing like an exasperated parent.

“What was it about?” Derek asked, and ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair soothingly.

“I don’t fucking know, you’ll have to ask Boyd.” Erica shrugged and dug bright purple nail polish out of her purse.

“You’re not putting that on in here,” Derek said, eyes narrowed at the bottle. “Outside or in your own room, where that shit won’t stink the rest of us out of here.”

“Jeez, you’re a big baby,” Erica grumbled, and put the nail polish away. “Party pooper.”

“No, I’m just preserving my sense of smell. I don’t know how you can stand to put that stuff on. Laura and my mother couldn’t.”

“Even to a human nose, nail polish is the worst,” Stiles added, wrinkling his nose. “I’m pretty sure Lydia’s nail polish got me a little high.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re just a big baby,” Erica said with a grin.

Stiles side-eyed her. “Are we having an impromptu band practice? Because I don’t think I’m up for that after the afternoon I had at Deaton’s.”

Derek hummed and wrapped his arms tighter around Stiles’ waist. “ _I_ could feel how exhausted you were when you left Deaton’s.”

“Dude, what?” Stiles yelped, twisting his head to stare at Derek. “Exhaustion isn’t even an emotion, how the hell could you feel that?”

“That’s what I was wondering while I was fixing your cocoa,” Derek grumbled and buried his nose in Stiles’ hair. “Just glad it didn’t make me feel tired, too.”

“I could’ve gone for a co-nap,” Stiles said a little dreamily, turning his head back around and resting it against Derek’s shoulder. “But you reading to me was nice.”

“Oh god, I regret ever entering this room,” Erica groaned, sprawling across the chair dramatically. “You’re gonna kill me with cute, it’s disgusting.”

Stiles smiled, a little smug and a lot pleased, as he patted Derek’s arm. “You hear that, boo? We’re killing Erica with our cute.”

“Don’t call me boo,” Derek huffed, nipping Stiles’ neck.

“Well you’re just no fun,” Stiles faux-pouted. “What else am I supposed to call you, then?”

“Derek, preferably,” the alpha said flatly.

“Not even Daddy? Or is that just in the bedroom?” Erica teased and winked, breaking into laughter when Stiles’ face went bright red. “No kink shaming here, guys. Judgement-free zone.”

“Oh my god, I hate you,” Stiles groaned and hid his face in his hands. “You’re the worst, I regret befriending you.”

“You love me,” Erica sing-songed joyously.

“Why did I bite you, again?” Derek asked wearily, trying not to wonder what Stiles’ reaction meant. He wasn’t really getting anything from the bond other than fondness, and a bit of embarrassment.

“I don’t even want to know what you three are talking about,” Boyd said before he entered the house, dropping his gym bag by the front door and kicking off his sneakers. “All I heard was Stiles bemoaning his decision to be Erica’s friend, and Derek questioning his judgement, and that’s all I need to know.”

“Boo!” Erica yelled, and launched herself across the room and into Boyd’s arms before Derek had the chance to blink. “Stiles said he’s not up for impromptu band practice today.”

Boyd kissed Erica sweetly, sent Derek and Stiles a small smile in greeting. “That’s cool. I’m not really up for it either, after breaking up that fight between Jackson and Scott.”

Derek rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder and quirked a brow at Boyd. “What were they fighting about?”

“Irrelevant things,” Boyd mumbled with a roll of his eyes. “Jackson doesn’t want to co-captain lacrosse with Scott, but he also doesn’t want to play on the team if Scott’s captain. Scott insists they did a really good job co-captaining last year. I’m not sure if he’s intentionally misinterpreting what Jackson was saying or not.”

“Jackson wants to give up being captain of the lacrosse team?” Stiles asked, disbelieving.

Boyd shook his head. “No. He just, as he said, knows that if there was a vote between Scott and Jackson to be captain, Scott would win. Personally, I think they shouldn’t worry about that shit until lacrosse starts up again.”

“Boys are dumb,” Erica stated matter-of-factly and tugged Boyd over to the armchair. “We should watch a movie.”

Derek grumbled wordlessly, snuggling further into Stiles’ back like he could merge with Stiles into a single person. He didn’t really care one way or the other if they watched a movie, or what movie they’d choose. The alpha knew he was probably going to end up falling asleep within the first ten minutes of it, anyway. He was warm, and content, with his mate in his arms and part of his pack there with them, the others’ moods across the pack bond mellow and relaxed despite the apparent fight between Scott and Jackson.

“I’m more in the mood for tv,” Stiles said, his voice vibrating against Derek’s chest.

“What kind of TV, though?” Erica asked dubiously.

“Der has the first season of _Elementary_ on the bookshelf,” Stiles suggested hopefully.

“I’m cool with that,” Boyd said. “Lucy Liu is a goddess.”

“Mm, yes,” Erica sighed. “She really is! I’d totally -”

“I don’t need to know _what_ you’d totally do,” Stiles interrupted, and hopped up off the couch. “Don’t give me that look, either, because I know you and I _know_ you weren’t going down the sweet and innocent path.”

Erica stuck her tongue out and winked. “Innocence is overrated, honey cakes.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “You did not just call me honey cakes. I am so not your honey cakes. That’s totally Boyd, it’s in his job description as your boyfriend and mate.”

Boyd snorted and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, his foot nudging _A Game of Thrones_ into Erica’s line of sight. She made an aggrieved noise and leaned forwards on Boyd’s lap to pluck it up, shooting Derek and Stiles a dirty look a moment later.

“You guys are watching the fucking show, why the hell are you just now reading the books?”

“The show isn’t ruined for me,” Derek repeated expressionlessly. “If I read the books and then watched the show, I’d spend all my time nitpicking. But watching the show and then reading the books allows me to enjoy them separately because there’s always more going on in the books.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Erica said, staring at Derek wide-eyed.

Stiles laughed gleefully and brandished the _Elementary_ dvds. “I don’t know that you have any room to talk, Erica.”

Boyd huffed a laugh and tossed Stiles the dvd remote. “Neither do _you_.”

“Rude,” Stiles retorted, catching the remote with his chest and forearm. Boyd smirked, and Stiles laughed. He turned the dvd player on while Derek turned the tv on and switched it over.

“Hey Derek,” Erica started.

  
“No,” Derek said.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she pouted. Derek raised a brow, and she huffed. “Fine, be that way. But I know your game, dude.”

Derek rolled his eyes and pulled Stiles into his lap after the human put the first dvd into the disk tray. Stiles gave a startled squeak and narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “Aw, shnookums, you know I’d sit in your lap if you just asked!”

“Stiles,” the alpha said, exasperated, the tips of his ears turning pink. “What did I tell you about the pet names?”

“I’m sorry my snuggle muffin, I forgot!”

“ _Stiles_!”

“I cannot believe that you are my best friend,” Boyd said expressionlessly.

Erica grinned and laughed. “I can!”

Stiles blinked at Boyd, stunned. “I’m your best friend?”

Boyd raised his eyebrows. “Yes? Is that a problem?”

“No! I just, you know, thought Erica was.”

“She is. _Too_ ,” Boyd shrugged, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Huh,” Stiles smiled brightly. “You’re the best!”

“Ugh, boys and their emotions,” Erica groaned in mock disgust. “Start the damn episode before I vomit puppies and rainbows.”

“Yeah, okay, I’d rather not see that despite how fascinating the ability to do that sounds,” Stiles grimaced, and hit the play all button before setting the remote to the side and settling back into Derek.

**  
**Derek made a contented noise and hooked his chin over Stiles’ shoulder, occasionally pressing his nose to the skin behind Stiles’ ear as he watched Joan Watson’s badassery  at work.


	6. if we all stand together (we're a force that can change the whole world)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m off to make friends. Maybe we’ll bond so much we’ll take over the world.”
> 
> “Have fun! You two would be the best overlords ever!” Stiles teased, and dodged Lydia before she could smack his arm in retaliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from A Day To Remember's 'This is the House That Doubt Built']
> 
> The next few chapters are going to cover a few consecutive days, so hooray for a solid timeline (even though it's not directly stated in this chapter as such).
> 
> _Game of Thrones_ references that are maybe upsetting if you're aware of canon and not at all actual foreshadowing I swear! (Stiles and Derek are in the middle of season 3, and are blissfully unaware of the pain that awaits them)
> 
> Stiles' new ringtone for Derek is _Always_ by Panic! At the Disco, because Stiles is actually a sap ~~(no, his user name is not Derek, and neither is his password, but he rings in at a very close second to Scott in the level of sappiness)~~.

_~if we all stand together (we're a force that can change the whole world)~_

* * *

 

Lydia hummed thoughtfully as she looked over Stiles’ drawing, lightly circling spots on the page. Stiles sighed forlornly and pulled Lydia’s sketchbook across the kitchen table, flipping it open. Her drawings were pretty amazing, and Stiles was jealous. There was a really great sketch of Jackson and Erica sitting across from one another, Jackson with his bass and Erica with an acoustic guitar.

 

“How did you get so good?”

 

“Practice, dumbass,” Lydia rolled her eyes and slid Stiles’ sketchbook back over to him. “You’re not bad for a beginner, Stiles. Ms. Rhodes is right to be impressed with you.”

 

Stiles flushed and pulled his sketchbook closer as Lydia grabbed up her own. “These circles...problem areas, or?”

 

“Your weak points. I’m not a professional, so don’t rely solely on my advice, but you should work on those.” Lydia opened to a fresh page. “And when I say ‘work on those’ I don’t mean just on that drawing. I mean you should practice that over and over; otherwise they’ll be poor in other drawings you do.”

 

“Repetition for improvement, got it,” Stiles grinned and winked. He carefully erased the circles Lydia had made and tapped his fingers on the table. “You know, when I signed up for art I didn’t think I’d take it quite so seriously, or be as interested in it as I am.”

 

“How interested is that?” Lydia asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

 

Stiles spent a few minutes considering, and gave a small frown as he thought about all the different career paths he had available to him, all the different things he could do with his life. “I think interested enough to maybe minor in it at college.”

 

Lydia’s eyes widened a bit, and she considered Stiles for several moments. “That is quite an interest. I’ll help you as best I can, then.”

 

“Thanks,” Stiles smiled and ran his hand through his hair. “I really appreciate it.”

 

“I know,” Lydia smiled back. “So how are those lessons with Deaton going?”

 

“Ugh,” Stiles groaned, and dropped his head onto the table loudly. “Slow and painful. Deaton gets annoyed because I keep asking a ton of questions, and I get annoyed because he keeps being fucking cryptic and mysterious and vague. How does he expect me to learn a goddamn thing from him if he won’t be clear about it?”

 

“I’ve heard Jackson bitch about the same thing,” Lydia commented. She frowned for a moment, then opened her mouth.

 

Stiles’ phone chimed, stopping Lydia before she started, with a text from Peter, and he winced a bit when he looked up and met Lydia’s quirked brow. “Um,” he started, sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “Peter. He knew you were coming over today, and he wanted to give you a heads up that he’d be here in a half hour, if you wanted to leave before he got here.”

 

Lydia’s eyes flashed, and she straightened her shoulders with a toss of her hair. “I appreciate the warning, but I’m not going anywhere until we finish going through that book. We’re almost done, so it should only take us a couple of hours.”

 

“Alright,” Stiles said with a half-smile, setting his sketchbook aside and pulling the book Deaton had given Stiles out from his bookbag. Lydia pulled her notebook full of the translations out, and they both opened up to their current pages. Stiles squinted at the symbols and letters, trying to recall what he could of the Latin lessons Lydia had been sporadically giving him.

 

“I think this section is talking about the reason Protectors have been considered nothing but myth,” Stiles told her hesitantly, slowly sliding the book closer to her.

 

Lydia looked it over, and shot Stiles a small, proud smile. “Essentially, yes,” she said, and tapped her nail against the third paragraph. “Here it says that, after the murder of one of the most powerful Protectors of the time, other Protectors met up and decided to slowly turn themselves into nothing more than a myth, for their own safety.

 

“It goes on to say that it didn’t seem to take very long at all to disappear, less than a hundred years to be precise, and once they became nothing more than a folktale they started altering the oral stories about themselves, so that supernatural beings would carry their secret to the grave if and when they so chose to reveal themselves to a creature.”

 

“Well, that explains why Peter and Derek are so concerned about my safety, now,” Stiles huffed, and folded his arms on the table. “I don’t remember seeing anything about that murdered Protector, does the book give more detail or?”

 

“There’s a footnote directing us to a different page,” Lydia replied. She ripped a small corner of paper from her notebook and marked the page they were on before flipping forward to the referenced page. Her eyes scanned over the paragraphs rapidly, for several moments, and she mouthed the words as she read, her eyes getting bigger with each sentence.

 

“That doesn’t look like a good expression,” Stiles said uneasily, shifting forward to try and read what she was reading.

 

“It’s not. The Protector, no name given, was murdered by way of a blood ritual, performed by a Coven to steal the Protector’s power and make it their own. The Protector’s powers were incompatible with the witches’ bodies, and it killed them shortly after they stole it.” Lydia’s face was white as the sheet of paper she was putting the translation down on, and she looked at Stiles with wide eyes. “The skinwalker was going to do the same thing to you, or something similar, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles shuddered and wrapped his arms around his waist. “It wanted to kill me for my power. Apparently it could’ve used that to make itself immortal, which is an incredibly fucking terrifying thought. That thing was...so unsettling, with its white eyes and rapid shift from animal to animal, and it smelled like rotten meat.”

 

“I still can’t believe it was killed without the White Ash our research said we needed,” Lydia frowned. “I know it wasn’t impossible to kill, but all the research said it was _near impossible_ to, without the proper weapons.”

 

Stiles shrugged and grimaced. “I watched Derek and Peter rip that thing apart, and Peter said he burned the body.”

 

“Can you be certain he’s telling the truth?”

 

“Lydia...yes, I can. Derek _and_ Scott agree that Peter told the truth when he said he burned the skinwalker’s body.” Stiles rubbed his head, feeling a little frustrated. He didn’t blame Lydia, could never in a million years blame Lydia, for her persistent distrust of Peter. Stiles was still reluctant, on the best of days, to trust Peter, and the only reason he did was because of his father and Derek’s certainty that Peter was one hundred percent without doubt his old self.

 

Lydia pressed her lips together until they were just a thin line of white, and she clicked bright pink nails against the table top. “I still have nightmares, about what he did to me. I still wake up screaming sometimes, drenched in sweat and totally convinced that he’s still haunting me, still using me to do his bidding.”

 

“Lyds,” Stiles said, his face crumpling and his heart aching.

 

“And then I remember, after I force myself through the panic, that the Peter Hale sleeping in your house is nothing like the one who’d raped my mind. It’s a horrible disconnect, Stiles. They’re the same person but they’re not. I will never, ever be able to look at him without remembering what he did to me.” Lydia swallowed and blinked rapidly. “And if he’s as changed as your dad and Derek say he is, if Peter Hale is truly back to the werewolf before the Hale fire, he’ll never be able to look at me without remembering what he did either.”

 

Silence swallowed them both, leaving Lydia’s words hanging in the air. After a few minutes, Lydia blew out a harsh breath and shook her head, settling her hands flat against the table top. Stiles stared at the bright pink polish on her nails, marveled not for the first time at Lydia’s strength.

 

“Well, this book isn’t gonna get read and translated itself,” Lydia said, and refocused on the book. Stiles snorted and moved around the table so he could sit next to her, their heads together as they poured over the pages.

 

They lost themselves in the translation, and the next thing they knew Peter was walking through the back door hesitantly. He frowned thoughtfully at the teens, nodded a greeting when they both looked at him, and started towards the living room. Stiles’ sketchbook, still sitting opened to his current drawing, caught Peter’s eye, and he paused to look at it.

 

“This is good, Stiles,” Peter exclaimed, and tapped a finger to all the spots Lydia had circled earlier like he could still see the light outlines. “Some spots could use improvement, but this is good. I didn’t know you had an interest in art.”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t either, until I started art class at school.” Stiles replied sheepishly.

 

Lydia’s phone chimed, and she pulled it out while Peter quietly asked to look at the rest of Stiles’ sketchbook. Stiles nodded and glanced anxiously between Lydia and Peter. Every other time they’d been this near to each other, there had been more than just Stiles as a buffer.

 

“Erica wants to hang out...just her and me?” Lydia announced, looking truly baffled by the idea.

 

Stiles made a surprised sound and gave Lydia his full attention. “I suppose it makes sense, though. Erica doesn’t have any female friends, and she’s still skittish around Allison.”

 

“I don’t blame her for being nervous around Allison,” Lydia said forcefully, like someone was saying otherwise. “But I thought she didn’t like me.”

 

“I know she didn’t care for the way you treated me,” Stiles said, and shrugged helplessly.

 

Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes. “You were acting like a creepy Nice Guy, Stiles, there was no way I was gonna give you the attention you wanted.”

 

He flushed and grimaced, said, “yeah, sorry. But I’m learning, and also, totally not into you anymore.”

 

“Thank god,” Lydia smiled.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed and smiled back, thinking of Derek. There was a jolt of affection, like Derek had just been thinking of Stiles, too, and it made Stiles’ heart flip.

 

“Quit thinking about your boyfriend and walk me to the door,” Lydia demanded, giving Stiles _a look_.

 

“Ugh, go bond with Erica so you can start talking to _her_ about clothes and boys, thereby leaving me out of it,” Stiles said, winking.

 

Lydia cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him. “What makes you think we wouldn’t include you in those conversations anyway?” She said as she headed to the front door, Stiles trailing behind her.

 

“The horror!”

 

“Shut up, you ass,” Lydia huffed and smiled despite herself. Stiles beamed and hugged her tightly, feeling strangely fuzzy. She hugged him back, tighter still, then pulled away with a nervous smile. “I’m off to make friends. Maybe we’ll bond so much we’ll take over the world.”

 

“Have fun! You two would be the best overlords ever!” Stiles teased, and dodged Lydia before she could smack his arm in retaliation.

 

Peter was still flipping through his sketchbook when Stiles walked back into the kitchen, his expression thoughtful. Stiles stopped just inside the threshold, leaned against the wall, and watched Peter, wondering what was going through Peter’s mind at that moment. Peter’s finger traced along a line, and Stiles’ mind turned to Derek and the things he’d mentioned about his uncle before the fire.

 

“Derek told me you used to draw, all the time, apparently,” Stiles said, and Peter jumped. The werewolf looked up from Stiles’ sketchbook with a frown, like he was surprised Derek had ever mentioned something like that. “Don’t give me that look. I know a lot about your family, now that Derek feels comfortable talking about them.”

 

Peter’s expression shifted to sorrow. Stiles bit his lip, wondered if Peter was able to talk about his loss the way Derek was. Derek had half a decade between him and what had happened. Peter had spent that time a vegetable, slowly healing from his burns, and came out of it insane

 

“I was in San Diego for art school, when I met your mom, did you know?”

 

Stiles blinked, a little thrown by the shift in topic, and shook his head, because no he had not known that. He didn’t really know much of anything about how Peter had met his parents, just that they’d all met before Stiles had been born.

 

Peter nodded, brushed his fingers over a rough sketch of a chickadee, said, “yes, it was the only reason I’d gone to San Diego in the first place. I wanted to start my own tattoo parlor, for shifters exclusively, but it turned out I did not have a steady enough hand for it. So I turned my focus on replicating portraits and paintings.”

 

“Cool,” Stiles said a little faintly. He tried to picture a younger Peter sitting in classes, and couldn’t.

 

“If you ever need drawing pencils or charcoals or whatever you’re using, or have any questions, I’m more than happy to help,” Peter said, and handed the sketchbook back. Stiles took it absently, gaping a little at Peter. The werewolf gave a small smile after another moment of silence.

 

“Right, uh, thanks?” Stiles mumbled, and went over to the table to clean up his books and notes. Peter hummed and left the kitchen, mumbling to himself about Sky as he went. It made something twist sharply in Stiles’ gut, and he thought about the artwork Ms. Rhodes had, just sitting in her classroom collecting dust.

 

_when the world gets too heavy, put it on my back. I’ll be your levy_

 

Stiles flushed, a bright shard of joy streaking through him like a comet, and answered his cell before it could go to voicemail. “Hey there, Jon Snow, what’s crackalackin’?”

 

A flood of warm, fond amusement swallowed Stiles whole and he grinned so wide his face started hurting. “ _If I’m Jon Snow, you’re Ygritte_.”

 

“I’m okay with that,” Stiles laughed, and hopped up onto the table, kicking his legs out to touch his toes to the wall.

 

Derek laughed, a warm sound wrapping around Stiles. “ _You free?_ ”

 

“Well, Der,” Stiles said, his grin turning sly. “According to government law - ”

 

“ _You know what I meant, dumbass_ ,” Derek huffed, amused.

 

“Well, Erica decided that she and Lydia needed to start bonding or something, so they’re doing that, leaving me unequivocally free.”

 

“ _Good. I talked to your dad earlier, and he said it was cool for me to take you to the Redwood National Park over the weekend._ ”

 

“...dude!” Stiles squeaked, excited. “Spontaneous! I love it!”

 

Derek snorted. “ _Not exactly spontaneous, but I guess it is for you. I booked us a cabin a while back_.”

 

“How long ago did you talk to my dad about this!?”

 

“ _......before I booked the cabin._ ”

 

“Derek, you weirdo,” Stiles sighed, and smiled fondly at his shoes. “You probably should’ve talked to me about it, too?”

 

“ _I wanted it to be a surprise._ ” Derek said, voice suddenly unsure. “ _If you don’t want to go, that’s fine. I’ll just give Peter the stuff and he can go up with your dad, or something. I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think this through fully. Sorry._ ”

 

“Hey, hey, no, don’t be sorry, man,” Stiles said urgently, tried not to think about the sudden lurch of nervous disappointment and self-disgust coming from Derek. “I really appreciate it, and if you think I’m letting you hand a weekend getaway like that over to Peter and my dad, you’re nuts!”

 

Relief washed over him, and Derek chuckled a little. “ _Okay...okay, good. Go get a bag packed, I’ll be over to pick you up in a half hour_.”

 

“Awesome,” Stiles cheered, nearly falling off the table, and ignored the look Jackson was giving him from the doorway. “I’ll see you then, pookie.”

 

“ _I swear to god, Stiles, if you don’t -_ ”

 

Stiles laughed, blew Derek a kiss, and hung up before his boyfriend could finish. Jackson raised his brows, all judgemental as he leaned against the doorjamb. Stiles narrowed his eyes.

 

“Nope,” he said, and hopped down. “Don’t give me that look. I’ve got a weekend getaway with my ridiculous boyfriend to go pack for.”

 

“Where are you going?” Jackson asked, trailed after Stiles, caught him when Stiles tripped going up the stairs, and rolled his eyes fondly. “The answer better not be the hospital, Stiles.”

 

Stiles huffed indignantly. “ _Rude_.”

 

“Ninety percent accurate,” Jackson retorted with a smirk.

 

“You’re such a butthead,” Stiles grumbled without any actual heat, his voice too fond despite himself. “I guess Derek’s taking me to Redwood National Park.”

 

“Ugh, you two are so gross,” Jackson complained and flopped down on Stiles’ bed. “But, at least you’re not as bad as Allison and Scott.”

 

“Wow, thanks,” Stiles said, sarcastic, and smacked Jackson’s foot as he walked by. “Derek and I stealth romance each other, because that’s how we are. Scott is...not one for stealth romancing. Scott is also the exact opposite of subtle.”

 

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he said flatly, and Stiles threw his duffle bag at Jackson’s face. “Assbutt,” he grumbled, and left the duffle right where it’d landed.

 

Stiles smiled brightly and opened his closet up, staring in at his clothes with a little trepidation. “Lydia is off bonding with Erica, if you were wondering.”

 

“A little,” Jackson said, swatted the duffle off his face, and rolled onto his side. “But I’m actually here because I need your advice.”

 

“The world is ending!” Stiles gasped in mock horror, and grunted when one of his dirty socks hit the back of his head. He laughed, turned back to his closet, and blinked at one of Derek’s sweaters in confusion. He had no idea how it got there, didn’t remember stealing it - it was still fucking hot out, too hot for a _sweater_ , what even. “Does this have anything to do with Danny and Isaac?”

 

Jackson pouted. “Yes,” he said, petulant, and curled around Stiles’ pillow. “Isaac is making it so difficult to get along with him!”

 

“Jax,” Stiles sighed, and grabbed Derek’s sweater to pack. “You knew something bad had been going down at his house for _years_ , and you didn’t say a word to anyone. No, you weren’t beating Isaac and locking him in a freezer, but you did nothing to help.”

 

“So it was my responsibility to save Lahey?” Jackson demanded, scowling a little.

 

“You could’ve called the police, filed a noise complaint, could’ve said something about all the screaming and crashing you heard.” Stiles shrugged helplessly. “Isaac is an abuse survivor, he spent like half his life being traumatized by his dad and ignored by his peers. He’s going to be angry about a lot of things. That you could’ve said something but didn’t, that he could’ve said something but was too afraid to. I don’t think he’s figured out that it’s okay to be afraid, that being afraid doesn’t make him weak. But just, dude, be patient with him?”

 

“...Yeah, I guess,” Jackson sighed.

 

Stiles pulled a few pairs of jeans from his dresser and turned to frown at Jackson. “It’s going to take a lot more work for Isaac to feel comfortable around you, man. He knows you had an idea about what was happening in his house, and he knows that you said something to my dad when they started investigating Mr. Lahey’s murder. Isaac might never like you, and if that happens you’ll have to do your best to be civil to him. Being civil is the least you can do, and it’s the right thing to do as a functioning human being.”

 

“Yeah, fine, fine, but I’m not going to let him treat me like shit forever.”

 

“No, you shouldn’t. Just don’t treat him like shit in retaliation, yeah?”

 

“Hmph.”

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and flicked Jackson’s ear, yanking his duffle bag away and darting over to Derek’s chair before Jackson could retaliate. Jackson narrowed his eyes, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, and rolled into a crouch on the edge of Stiles’ bed. Stiles watched him warily, the duffle held up to his chest defensively.

 

“D’you think you and Derek’ll have sex?”

 

“ _Oh_ my god, shut up,” Stiles squeaked, spun on his heel, and glared down at the duffel as he started stuffing his clothes into it. “You’re such an asshole, why am I friends with you?”

 

Jackson snorted. “Dude, you two’ll be all _alone_ , for the whole damn weekend!”

 

“Derek and I are not you and Lydia, Jesus Christ.” Stiles grumbled and went back over to his closet, pulling out a couple graphic tees. “I thought you wanted my advice about Danny and Isaac, not to heckle me about my non-sex life?”

 

“I can do both,” Jackson teased, and tackled Stiles into an attack-hug, twisting them mid-fall so that Stiles landed on top of him when they hit the floor.

 

Stiles groaned a little, muffled by Jackson’s shirt where his face smashed into the asshole’s shoulder. “I hate you so much, I swear to god.”

 

“Shut up Stilinski, you love me.” Jackson smiled, looking incredibly content.

 

“You’re such a freak,” Stiles sighed.

  
“Your boyfriend’s here,” Jackson replied.


	7. came here to get some peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from Bastille's 'Skulls']
> 
> Music mentioned: 'Skulls' by Bastille -yes Xerxies it's for you - and 'Get the Party Started' by P!nk. ~~Because who doesn't want to imagine preteen Derek jamming to P!nk, let alone 20-something year old Derek heee~~
> 
> Obligatory Kate Argent warning, because she's a total dick and clearly fucked Derek up ten ways to Sunday. ~~_I wonder where the hell that phrase came from, though...like, why ten ways to Sunday? Why not thirty ways to Mars? Or six ways to Antarctica?_~~
> 
>  
> 
> _(20 points if you catch the random reference from a classic movie that shall remain nameless because I'm a butt)_

_~came here to get some peace~_

* * *

 

****

“Just to clarify, you’re totally cool leaving Beacon Hills for the weekend while some new, mysterious creature is running around killing people and taking their hearts?”

Derek sighed and finished up at the gas pump, taking his receipt and sliding back into the camaro to give Stiles a look. “What exactly can we do about it? I’m not thrilled there’s a new mystery monster roaming Beacon Hills, but there haven’t been any more deaths in several weeks, we have no clue where to start looking for it, tons of lore Lydia won’t let anyone else but you go through. Your father is capable, he’s in charge of the pack while we’re gone, and if anything were to happen he can call me. Besides, Lydia helped me plan this trip months ago, I think she’d skin me alive if I canceled it.”

Stiles stared at him, tried not to smile a little as his shock and fondness radiated across the bond like warm sunshine in the middle of spring, and chuckled softly. “That sneaky, evil little genius.”

“How do you think I knew to book a cabin for a three day weekend?”

“By looking at a calendar and determining when Labor Day was?”

The tips of Derek’s ears turned red, and he scowled out the windshield. “We don’t have to go if you’re so concerned.”

Stiles made a disgruntled noise, flooded the bond with indignation. “Uh, no, I’d like to go very much. You made very good points.” He sighed, looked down at his hands in his lap, and said softer, “I wanna spend uninterrupted time alone with you, I do. I’m just, you know, constantly afraid the other shoe’s gonna drop if I’m not there. Plus, I know how hard you’re always trying to save everyone.”

Derek smiled shyly and turned onto the highway. “I want to spend uninterrupted time with you, too. It’s why I planned this trip. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh god,” Stiles blushed, voice full of affection. “You’re such a sap. Do the others know how sappy you really are?”

“Shut up,” Derek mumbled without heat, his face reddening.

Stiles laughed, bright and joyous, and pulled his iPod out of his backpack to hook up to the camaro’s stereo. He scrolled through the songs for a moment, then grinned as he rolled his window down and started a song, cranking the volume up until Derek couldn’t differentiate between the lead singer and Stiles.

“ _I came here for sanctuary, away from the winds and the sounds of the cityyyyyy!_ ”

He threw his head back, drummed his fingers against his knees, eyes squeezed shut as Stiles shouted along with the song like he was at a concert. “C’mon, dude,” Stiles cried over the wind and music after a moment, smiling brightly at Derek. “Sing with me!”

Derek shook his head, because everything was _ridiculous_. Stiles’ eyes were catching the sunlight, sparkling, and Derek couldn’t stop the breath from stuttering in his chest because _he really was a giant sap_. He distracted himself by giving Stiles a flat look.

“I don’t know the song, Stiles.”

Stiles grinned, mischievously gleeful, and searched through his iPod. Derek regretted opening his mouth, knew he was doomed when Stiles cackled victoriously. The song switched over, and Derek groaned before the first few seconds of it had gone by, just barely stopping himself from smacking his forehead against the steering wheel as warm affection swept through him.

“I know you know this one!” Stiles declared smugly, and jumped into the song enthusiastically. Derek sighed and reluctantly (except he wasn’t reluctant at all) joined Stiles as he shouted along to P!nk’s _Get The Party Started_.

Four and a half hours - fifteen sing-a-longs, a round of I Spy, and a rant about Supernatural - later, Derek had the keys to their cabin. Stiles was half asleep, slumped across the center console like he’d meant to lean against Derek’s shoulder but found the driver’s seat empty and couldn’t be bothered to move. Derek laughed softly to himself, still quietly surprised by how much fondness he felt for Stiles, and tried not to worry about how deep his feelings already were. He was getting there, he knew that, and while the thought didn’t scare him the way it would’ve a year ago, Derek knew that anything could still go wrong.

“Mm, whaddaya thinkin’ ‘bout s’got you all somber?” Stiles mumbled sleepily, and sat up as Derek slipped into the car. He gripped Derek’s shirt sleeve loosely with his fingers, then slid them down to wrap around his wrist comfortingly.

“Pizza,” Derek said, and smiled when Stiles’ stomach growled.

“Oh god, that sounds delicious right now,” he moaned, and thumped his head against Derek’s shoulder lightly. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did there, wolfbutt, but I’m so hungry right now I’m gonna let it slide. Ugh, feed me Seymour!”

Derek chuckled and combed his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “There’s a bag of chex mix in the glovebox you can snack on. I want to drop our stuff off at the cabin before I take you to the beach for dinner.”

“Mm, yeeeesssssss,” Stiles sighed, and leaned forward to get into the glovebox. He made a victorious noise when he pulled the bag out and discovered that they were his favorite kind, and leaned over to drop a kiss to Derek’s shoulder. “You’re the literal best,” he enthused, and tore into them.

“If you say so,” Derek said, grinned, and turned the camaro on. He pulled out of the main office parking lot and headed in the direction of their cabin. Stiles made a face at him and gave his full attention to the food in his hands. Derek shook his head fondly and inhaled deeply, the scents of the woods loosening some of the knots in Derek’s shoulders.

After a few minutes of silence, Stiles seemed to notice how secluded everything was, and he side-eyed Derek with a smirk. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were bringing me out here so that you could either sex me up or murder me where no one can hear.”

“I’m disturbed those are the two scenarios that simultaneously occurred to you,” Derek said. “Should I be concerned that there seems to be a correlation between sex and violence in your brain?”

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes with a wry smile. “Dude, the media’s spent years teaching us to sexualize violence. I can’t remember ever seeing a slasher movie that _didn’t_ have half-naked women or idiot teenagers getting murdered with an axe because they snuck off to bang.”

Derek made a face and turned down the lane to their cabin. “That’s incredibly discomforting and also gross.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, and leaned over the center console to bump his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Also you can blame Lydia for educating me about this. But on the bright side! It doesn’t really seem to be the case with _Elementary_ , yeah? Or maybe it does and I’m just blind to it because _Lucy Liu_. Lucy Liu is a goddess, to be honest.”

“You’re so strange,” Derek chuckled.

“Hey! Don’t even try telling me you disagree! I know for a fact you’ve got a crush on her!”

“Funny,” Derek said, and pulled up to the cabin. He put the car in park, and smiled to himself when Stiles flailed out of the camaro in excitement, sliding from the car. The cabin smelled like pine, cedar, and mothballs when he unlocked the door, and Derek sighed happily as he walked inside.

“Dude, this is so fucking cool,” Stiles exclaimed as he shoved his way passed Derek. He turned and sent Derek a blinding smile before dropping down onto the queen bed situated in the middle of the cabin. “It’s so oddly cozzy.”

“Don’t even think about jumping on that bed, dumbass,” Derek warned, narrowing his eyes at Stiles. “Help me get our bags in here so we can go eat.”

“Party _pooper_ , dude,” Stiles huffed, and crouched on the bed, smiling at Derek. The alpha scowled and turned towards the door, and Stiles took the opportunity he was granted to launch himself at his boyfriend. Stiles slammed into Derek, wrapped his arms and legs around him, and clung to him like a limpet.

Derek huffed, fighting back laughter, and reached up to wrap his hands around Stiles’ wrists, helping his boyfriend readjust. Satisfied, Derek moved his hands down to Stiles’ thighs and piggybacked Stiles out to the camaro as Stiles laughed brightly.

Stiles smacked a kiss to the back of Derek’s head, squeezing his arms and legs around Derek tighter. “You’re such a dork, oh my god.”

“I could drop you, you know,” Derek replied and popped the trunk.

“You wouldn’t dare, lover-boy,” Stiles teased, sliding down Derek until his feet hit the dirt. “You’d cry sappy tears of sap.”

Derek hip checked Stiles and laughed when he spluttered indignantly. “Pretty sure only trees produce sappy anything. If I’m crying sap I’d be a little concerned.”

“Shut up, oh my god, you’re so cheesy! You’re so lucky the pack doesn’t know about this side of you; they’d never take you seriously again,” Stiles teased, taking his duffle bag and pillow from Derek.

“Yeah,” Derek said with a roll of his eyes as he pulled his own bag from the trunk and shut it. “Like they take me seriously now?”

“Hmm, good point,” Stiles grinned, and blew Derek a kiss.

A couple hours and a lobster dinner later, they were back at the cabin, Stiles brushing his teeth in the bathroom while Derek grabbed the comforter off the bed and carried it outside. He looked around for a moment, listening as Stiles mumbled to himself about closet romantic boyfriends around his toothbrush. Derek smiled and spread the comforter out on the grass at the side of the cabin.

“Hey, Der, where’d you go?” Stiles called.

“Outside!” Derek shouted back, listened to Stiles move through the cabin. “Put on something warm!”

Stiles grumbled unintelligibly, and a couple minutes later he was jumping down onto the grass and striding over to Derek. “What’s happening?”

Derek patted the comforter next to him, smiled up at Stiles. “I thought we could stargaze?”

“Closet romantic,” Stiles muttered under his breath, smiled shyly, and dropped down next to Derek. “It’s not even dark enough for that, yet, dude.”

“So we’ll read,” Derek replied, and held up _A Clash of Kings_ for Stiles to see.

“I’m down with that,” Stiles beamed, and snuggled up to Derek as he opened to their current chapter.

They made it through a few chapters, each taking turns reading, before it got too dark to see the words on the pages. Stiles made a disgruntled noise when Derek shut the book and set it aside, frowning up at the purple sky. Derek stretched out beside him, humming in contentment.

“That was literally the worst place for us to stop, whyyyy,” Stiles groaned, and thumped his head against the ground lightly.

“I’m not disagreeing,” Derek said. “But I’m also not really inclined to keep holding the book, and you can’t read in the dark.”

“Lazy,” Stiles laughed.

Derek closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of their breathing, and the forest as the nocturnal creatures stirred, the steady _thu-thump_ of Stiles’ heartbeat beside him. It was peaceful, and he was reluctant to shatter it, but there were thoughts bumping around in his head.

“I want to ask you a question, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Derek finally said, stomach clenching nervously. Fabric rustled, Stiles rolling onto his side, and Derek made himself take deep breaths.

“Ask me whatever you need, Der. I reserve the right to not answer, obviously, but I doubt your question will make me too uncomfortable to answer.”

“Are,” Derek started, tried not to blush. “Are you...well, sexually attracted to me?” His heart felt like it was going to explode, and it sounded like Stiles’ heart wasn’t all that far behind with the way it sped up almost instantly.

“I - ”

“I mean, of course it’s okay if you’re not! It won’t change anything between us, I just… I’m curious? But, Jesus, nevermind. You don’t have to answer that. That was so inappropriate,” Derek said anxiously, steamrolling over Stiles before he could answer.

Stiles gave a strained laugh and reached out to touch Derek’s cheek. “Dude, I thought you already knew… I mean, aren’t werewolves supposed to be able to scent desire?”

“You,” Derek stuttered, and blinked his eyes open to stare at Stiles in confusion. “I don’t want to assume anything, here, Stiles. I need you to be explicitly clear.”

“Man, I thought you knew,” Stiles repeated, his face bright red. “I wasn’t, not at first. Like, I found you really aesthetically attractive, but I was really only interested in you for your mind, your personality. I’m not exactly sure when it happened, sometime before that day at your house, the first time I blew you? I don’t think I would’ve actually given you that blow job if I wasn’t sexually attracted to you. Well, okay, I probably might have, but I don’t think I would’ve been as desperate for it as I was.”

Derek opened his mouth, shut it with a pinched look. He felt like he’d expended all his energy just asking that question, and it was possible he had. He’d spent a bit of therapy time talking about it, about why it was important for Derek to know. And he knew, now. Derek knew and he didn’t know why he was so frozen.

“Can I ask you why you asked me, if it wasn’t going to change anything if I wasn’t?” Stiles asked, voice quiet, and Derek jerked back to awareness.

“I just…” He started, and frowned up at the sky. “I’m always concerned that I’m unintentionally pressuring you into doing stuff,” Derek whispered, voice thick. “I trust you to tell me to stop, but I just can’t keep myself from worrying about it. ...I guess it’s...I just don’t want to be your Kate.”

Stiles sucked in a breath, climbed on top of Derek, and took Derek’s face between his hands. “Der, we talked about this, but I don’t mind reminding you that you’re not Kate, you will _never_ be her.”

Derek gripped Stiles’ hips, clenched his eyes shut. Stiles made a soft noise and started peppering kisses all over Derek’s face, his distress radiating across their bond. It made something inside Derek break open, knowing - feeling how much Stiles cared about him.

“Please believe me,” Stiles whispered mournfully, curved down to press their foreheads together.

“I’m trying to,” Derek mumbled back, his voice cracking down the middle.

Stiles made a wounded noise and curled around Derek, threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair and pressed the werewolf’s face into his neck. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, grounded himself and blocked out everything else until all that was left was the feel of Stiles pressed against him, warm and solid, smelling of home and sounding like benediction.

“I swear to you if - when - we go farther than what we’ve done, it will be with my more than enthusiastic consent,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s hair. “You have no idea how many fantasies I’ve had about us, no clue how many times I’ve imagined us doing all of the things in all of the positions.”

Derek gave a strangled moan, biting down lightly on Stiles’ neck in retaliation. Stiles’ scent darkened and he whined softly, long fingers clutching tighter to Derek’s shoulders, his pelvis grinding down into Derek’s unconsciously.

“Fuck,” Derek groaned, his fingers spasming where they gripped Stiles’ hips.

Stiles shivered against the werewolf, panting harshly into Derek’s hair, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Oh my god this is weird,” he muttered. “I think I just felt your pleasure, what the fuck?”

“Bond,” Derek replied breathlessly. He’d felt Stiles’ pleasure, too. It was almost overwhelming, twin arcs of pleasure that felt so fucking amazing Derek had thought for a split second that he’d come in his damn jeans.

“Fuck, right,” Stiles wheezed, and clung a little tighter to Derek.

Derek let out a shuddering breath, trying to pull the wolf back under his skin. They hadn’t even done anything, and his control was slipping. It worried him, a little.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered as he nuzzled into Derek. “Relax, Der. I trust you; I know you won’t hurt me. You can shift, it’s okay.”

“You - ” Derek started, cut himself off to groan into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles shushed him, arching back into the press of Derek’s claws along his spine. He lifted up, smoothed his fingers across the ridge of Derek’s brow, and pressed tender kisses to the corner of a fanged mouth. It startled Derek - he hadn’t even realized he’d shifted into full beta form.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Stiles whispered reverently, licked a line from Derek’s jaw down to his collarbones. “I want every part of you.”

A possessive growl tore out of the alpha’s throat, and he flipped them, stared into Stiles’ wide eyes. Desire flared bright and hot in Derek’s belly, coiling around him like a rope of fire, surging into him through the bond. It made him groan, his senses keyed up and tuned into Stiles and Stiles alone, the sound of a fragile human heart racing, the feel of shuddering breaths on his lips.

“You’re perfect,” Derek murmured around his fangs, and Stiles flushed.

“M’not perfect,” Stiles protested quietly, glancing away quickly before locking his gaze with Derek’s. He reached up, buried his fingers into Derek’s hair, scratching blunt nails across the werewolf’s scalp. “I wish I could go running with you.”

Derek blinked, confused. “We’ve gone running before?”

Stiles sighed, smiling fondly, and scratched behind pointed ears. “Not when you’re fuzzy and four-legged.”

“You wanna run with my wolf?”

“I told you I want every part of you,” Stiles said softly. “The wolf is a part of you, and I wish I could run through the forrest with you on full moons.”

Derek stared at Stiles for several long, quiet minutes; his eyes crinkled at the corners, a fond, private smile on his lips. Stiles squirmed, feeling embarrassed, and Derek ducked down to brush his nose along Stiles’ throat and up his jaw. The human moaned softly and clutched at Derek’s shoulders.

“I might know a way for you to go running with me, but it’ll probably take some practice.”

“I don’t care how much practice it takes, Der, I want to. I want to a lot. A lot a lot.”

 

* * *

Stiles starfished out on the bed in nothing but his boxers, listening to the old radio they’d found in one of the closets after they’d come in from stargazing. Derek was still in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He’d been quiet, when they finally tumbled into the cabin, and Stiles started feeling a little nervous. He thought it was ridiculous, his nerves, because he _knew_ Derek would never do anything Stiles didn’t want, but it felt sort of different, now that they’d actually had that conversation.

“I can hear your brain ticking away, Stiles,” Derek said as he came out of the bathroom, shirtless and in soft-looking sleep pants.

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbled, his face warm, and rolled onto his side. “So are you gonna tell me about this idea you have or not?”

Derek huffed and dropped down onto the other side of the bed. “Have you ever been horseback riding?”

“Once, when I was little,” the human said, quirked a brow at Derek. “My mom took me for my fifth birthday.”

“Well, apply that concept.”

“...you’re serious? Am I supposed to strap a saddle to you, too?”

“No, dumbass, think bareback riding.”

Stiles gave Derek a flat look. “You phrased it that way on purpose, don’t even pretend you didn’t.”

Derek quirked a brow, face deceptively blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are the _worst_ ,” Stiles grumbled, and Derek smiled fondly.

“ _Sleep_ time, Stiles,” Derek murmured, reached a hand out to drag Stiles into him, and curled around the

human with a content sigh.

**  
**“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles grumbled, hid his smile against Derek’s arm. He felt warm and fuzzy all over, and he fell asleep to the scent of cedar and leather and Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Sexuality is complex. Demisexuality is no exception to this rule. In this instance with Stiles, he's formed a deep enough emotional bond with Derek that he's developed a sexual attraction to him. That doesn't always happen. Sometimes a demisexual can be in a committed, loving relationship with their partner for _years_ and never become sexually attracted to them. Stiles' admittance that he might've given Derek a blow job despite a lack of sexual interest in him can definitely be problematic, and it's something that would have to have been discussed quite extensively. I'll admit to flying a little blind here, as the person I'd been discussing Stiles' demisexuality with and sort of basing it off of has taken an indefinite break from the internet, and I'm not sure when or if he'll be back (and because the internet was the only way I've been able to keep in touch with him, I'm quite sad). That being said, if anyone has a problem with the particular way I portray Stiles' sexuality in this fic, I'm more than willing to discuss it with you, or if you have questions I'll try my best to answer them or direct you to someone/where that can! My ask box on tumblr is always open.


	8. interlude: i'm still learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did you get us into, Lyds?” Jackson groaned, and Scott rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [interlude title taken from A Great Big World (ft. Christina Aguilera)'s 'Say Something']
> 
> Ahhhh...ahahaha. I'm SO SORRY it took so long to post this, everyone! There was...well. A couple weekends ago, I was taken out of commission by way of a migraine, and I'd intended to post it the following week but as I was reading over what I had written I...felt really dissatisfied with it (as anyone following the howdoilive blog might know I was contemplating shifting some chapters around, and ultimately I decided to do that). I'd planned on doing some major editing and stuff and having the new chapter up this last weekend. Instead, I caught a cold and slept a lot. So I'm really sorry this chapter is so late! In related news (related being that today is Wednesday), I've decided to shift the update schedule around, and I'm going to try and update on a Tuesday or Wednesday!

_~interlude: i'm still learning~_

* * *

 

“Have you heard from Stiles?” Scott asked as he walked into the Hale house. He froze, confused, when he saw Erica and Lydia sitting on the couch with a Chinese checkers board on the coffee table. Boyd and Jackson were in the corner, sitting on the floor facing each other with a folder of sheet music between them. He’d been expecting Erica, because Isaac had said that was where she’d be before hightailing it out the McCall front door, but Scott hadn’t exactly thought everyone else would be there.

 

Lydia cocked an eyebrow. “He’s with Derek, at the Redwood National Park.”

 

Scott huffed and let the door bang shut. “I’m aware of that.”

 

“No phone signal, dumbass,” Erica pointed out, and moved one of her pieces. “I doubt he’s gonna be calling or texting us when he’s got Derek’s full and undivided attention.”

 

“What do you want with him?” Jackson grumbled, glaring at Scott.

 

“Deaton,” Scott said, just barely stopping himself from making a face at Jackson. He could be mature, really. “He thinks the mystery creature killed someone else.”

 

“Deaton _thinks_ ,” Lydia said dryly. “And what makes Deaton _think_ this creature killed another person?”

 

“He never said anything about any of the other deaths, never seemed to ‘sense’ the creature killing someone any other time,” Erica pointed out, unimpressed.

 

“Look,” Scott started, frustrated, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know why or how - ”

 

“Man,” Boyd interrupted, “I don’t enjoy Deaton playing into the morally ambiguous black guy schtick he’s got going for him, but that dude has been really sketchy. He plays favorites, or something. He loves you, he _helps you_ , but Derek? Probably doesn’t have his best interests at heart no matter what he says.” The werewolf shrugged helplessly.

 

Scott bit back a growl. “He’s not a bad guy.”

 

Jackson scowled. “He helped you use Derek’s body as a weapon to take down Gerard Argent. Did he even have any suggestions for helping me? Or did he not care that I was being used to kill innocent people, and that killing Argent wouldn’t have fixed that?”

 

Everyone stilled, and Scott’s hackles rose automatically. He took a deep breath, tried to remind himself that he _wasn’t_ there to argue. “Can we not? Can we just worry about this problem for now?”

 

Lydia sighed heavily. “Scott, what do you want? To call Stiles and Derek back to Beacon Hills on the word of your sketchy mentor? We still don’t know what it is, which means we don’t know how to kill it or stop it. So unless Deaton knows something he’s not telling us?”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Scott mumbled, shoulders slumping a bit. “I just figured with Stiles being this Protector thing…”

 

Erica growled, short and sharp, and slapped her hand down on the coffee table, sending the marbles scattering. Lydia shot her a dirty look, but the werewolf ignored her in favor of glaring at Scott. “Scott, you do realize that Stiles has no idea what this thing is either? You’ve spent enough time with him since the skinwalker incident to know how stressed out he is that there’s a new threat. He needed this mini-vacay.”

 

“Shit,” Scott sighed, and leaned against the doorjamb. “Okay, I get what you’re saying. But I’m telling him when they get back on Monday.”

 

“Fine,” Lydia clucked her tongue and dumped the marbles she’d been scooping up into a bowl. “Is Allison still shopping for new bow stuff with her dad?”

 

Scott nodded, ignored the way Erica and Boyd went stiff. Lydia didn’t, and grimaced a little. Boyd turned his attention back to the sheet music, like he was pretending nothing had happened, and Erica scowled at the last of the marbles strewn across the floor. Scott continued to ignore them.

 

Lydia pressed her lips into a thin line, eyes considering Scott for a long moment. “Scott, would you be up for a game of _Apples to Apples_?”

 

Because Lydia’d be damned if she didn’t try. Allison was still her best friend, she knew what those two were considering. She’d talk to Jackson about it later, but Lydia felt like she had to at least _try_ and keep Scott and Allison from leaving.

 

“Um,” Scott furrowed his brow, looking genuinely confused. “You want me to stick around and play _Apples to Apples_ with you guys?”

 

“No!” Jackson protested.

 

“Yes!” Lydia snapped, glared at her boyfriend, and smoothed her skirt out. “Yes, _we_ do.” She nudged Erica with her elbow, and the she-wolf grunted in reluctant agreement.

 

“...Okay, sure,” Scott said after a few seconds. “You think we could call Isaac? I don’t think he’s busy.”

 

Jackson cleared his throat, shook his head. “Actually he’s having dinner with Danny’s parents.”

 

“Oh,” Scott frowned. “I wonder why he didn’t tell me, though that does explain why he bolted bolted out of my house earlier.”

 

“I think it was a last minute thing,” Jackson muttered, and he sounded a little petulant. Scott figured Jackson’d probably intended to hang out with Danny that night.

 

Boyd huffed, but it didn’t sound annoyed. “I’ll go grab the cards.”

 

“Excellent,” Erica said, suddenly gleeful. “You’re all going _down_.”

 

“You wish,” Scott shot back, moving further into the living room. “I’m the master at this game.”

 

“Your best friend - who knows you and the way your mind works - always picking your cards when it’s his turn to judge, thereby giving you an unfair advantage, doesn’t actually count,” Boyd said from down the hall.

 

Scott made a face. “Dude, trust me, Stiles gives me _no_ advantages. Do you know how competitive he is? He absolutely doesn’t love me enough to just let me win at anything.”

 

Erica cackled, her head thrown back. “Spectacular.”

 

“What did you get us into, Lyds?” Jackson groaned, and Scott rolled his eyes.

 

“Pack bonding, you moron,” Lydia responded, and there was an almost imperceptible tug in the back of Scott’s head, like someone tied a string to strands of his hair and a slight breeze caught it for a second. He shook it off, cracked his knuckles dramatically, and sent Lydia a small grin. She returned it briefly before focusing her attention on Erica and Jackson separating the green and red cards.

 

Three hours later, Boyd won seven out of the eight rounds.

  
No one was all that shocked.


	9. i think i saw you in my dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh fuck you, dude, I’m sure as hell not training for this. Crazy people, Derek. I’m one hundred percent certain only crazy people like this!” Stiles huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  
> “What does it say about you, then?” Derek teased, biting into a piece of beef jerky. “Because _I_ like hiking, and you like me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from La Dispute's 'Such Small Hands']
> 
> Oooooh my god, I am so very sorry about the sudden, long, and unannounced hiatus! There were a myriad of reasons for it, and I honestly feel bad about leaving you all hanging. I was going to post this chapter last Tuesday, but yet another thing piled onto the Crap of Life, and so this is coming to you even later than I'd wanted.
> 
> On another note, I have to be honest with you and myself in saying that I cannot keep this fic to a fixed update schedule. Not at the moment, at least. I want to say that this is about half done, at least, but I'm not 100% confident in that prediction. 
> 
> _PLEASE_ tell me if I need to add any tags. I'm honestly not the best judge on these sorts of things. As a light warning, there's a dream-sequence in which Stiles experiences heightened levels of anxiety due to his confusion and fear about what exactly is going on. Within the dream, Stiles witnesses use of guns (target practice) and is put in a situation that makes him extremely uncomfortable. There's discussion of gun kinks. All in all nothing bad really happens, but I want to keep you guys safe, you know?
> 
> Specifically in regards to this chapter:  
> 1) It's probably twice as long as normal. For a multitude of reasons that can be narrowed down to a) Some of these parts were broken up between different chapters and I decided against that because it didn't feel like it flowed quite as nicely, b) I got to a point where I probably should have put something into another chapter but was determined to keep the rest of the Red Wood trip in a single chapter, and c) it was going to be even longer but I girded my loins and cut out "filler" bits. Probably don't expect other chapters to be as long as this one. ~~But who knows it might happen again...~~  
>  2) There's a chance that I will come back and heavily edit this chapter, which means stuff might get cut from it. I'm not sure yet. I'll be honest when I say I probably could have spent more time editing, but I just wanted to get this chapter posted for you all. So I apologize now for any glaring grammatical/spelling errors.  
> 3) There are parts of this chapter I loathe, because parts of this chapter were written as I struggled through some major writer's block. I hate doing it, because it always feels very forced to me, and I'm never sure how I can fix that.  
> 4) Aaaaand last but not least, I'm pleased to give you all something I've been chomping at the bit to write into this universe. It was _supposed_ to happen in How Do I Live, but that fic got away from me a bit so the scene in question sort of sat in a dusty corner, languishing away as it waited for its Shining Moment. Personally, I think it turned out better than what I originally imagined waaaay back in early 2013.

_~i think i saw you in my dreams~_

* * *

 

There was a bird chirping, like really obnoxiously chirping. The sound seemed like it was right next to Stiles’ head, and he grumbled groggily as he blinked his eyes open. No birds, it was still pitch black outside, and Derek was solid and warm, like a heavy, werewolf blanket. Stiles found he didn’t mind it, trapped on his stomach mostly underneath Derek. It was comforting, felt like safety and affection. It made him forget why he’d woken up in the first place, and Stiles drifted back to sleep with a small smile.

* * *

 “ _So, what kind of gun is this, then?_ ”

Stiles blinked, stared at _himself_ in a dark green sweater standing across the room with Derek, pointing at a handgun that from that distance looked like a Kimber 1911 pistol, but he wasn’t positive. He was more focused on how he could be standing right over _there_ while also standing where he was. He’d be more worried about hallucinating or some shit but Stiles hadn’t touched alcohol since Lydia’s birthday party, and he wasn’t stupid enough to get into the shit he knew Peter kept in the top shelf of the pantry.

“ _It’s a Kimber 1911 Raptor II,” Derek replied, idly stroke a finger along the barrel. “My second favorite._ ”

“What the fuck?” Stiles asked, his stomach dropping when it was clear that Derek hadn’t heard him or couldn’t hear him.

_Stiles smiled brightly and picked up a Glock. “Personally, I prefer this beauty right here,” he murmured, and lifted the gun up. He aimed it at a target on the wall opposite Derek and him, switched the safety off, and fired six rounds into a tight grouping just left of the bullseye._

_Derek groaned, pressed up against Stiles’ back, arms wrapping around the human’s waist. “That shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.”_

“What the fuck is _happening_!?” Stiles asked shrilly, turning away from the other him and Derek before they could strip each other. It felt fucking weird, watching Derek and him doing things when it _wasn’t really him_. “I was asleep in our cabin, what the fuck? Did I fucking eat something? Did the waiter at that restaurant slip me some weird  new hybrid drug?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, gripped at the strands and tugged until his scalp burned and his eyes pricked with tears. Even though he wasn’t _looking_ , Stiles could still hear them, moaning and whispering softly to each other. His chest went tight, and he wondered if it was weird that seeing Derek with _Stiles except it wasn’t really him_ made his chest tight and his head heavy.

Stiles wanted off of this fucking roller coaster.

“DID SOME FUCKING FREAK MONSTER OF THE WEEK PULL SOME MAGIC TRICK ON ME? DID THAT GODDAMNED WEIRDO DJINN FROM THAT SUPERNATURAL EPISODE LOCK ME INSIDE MY OWN FUCKING NIGHTMARE?”

He was shaking. He was shaking? Why was he shaking? And why did the world go dark and flat and quiet? It was maybe worse than listening to himself fucking Derek, and Stiles still didn’t understand what his hangup was about that except that _clearly that wasn’t him with Derek if he’d been standing ten feet away_!

“ _STILES!_ ”

* * *

 Stiles snapped awake, panting and confused. He was still in the cabin, Derek was kneeling beside him on their bed, and it was still pretty dark out. Derek leaned down to lock their eyes, and Stiles looked away. He didn’t understand what was going on, and it freaked him the fuck out.

“Stiles?” Derek called, voice small, and reached out a hand, pulling it back a moment later like he’d thought better of it. “Hey, what’s going on? You’re kind of scaring me, Stiles...can you at least...do you need water? I can give you space?”

“I,” Stiles tried, clapped a hand to his mouth. He reached out to Derek with his free hand, wrapping his fingers around Derek’s shoulder and trying not to shake apart. He felt stupid, because clearly it’d just been some kind of fucked up dream. “S-sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be sorry,” Derek whispered, shuffled closer to Stiles. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Stiles blinked at his knees, shook his head. “Nah,” he said, and lifted his gaze up to meet Derek’s concerned one. “Just a weird dream. I guess I should stay away from the lobster thermador, huh?”

Derek huffed, brows still furrowed in obvious concern, and cupped Stiles’ jaw with both hands, the bond thrumming with self-hatred and concern and a little bit of terror. “Did I push you too far with our conversation earlier? Maybe you weren’t ready for me to know?”

“Jesus,” Stiles sighed, his chest flooded with so many different emotions at once it nearly overwhelmed him, and moved his hands to wrap around Derek’s wrists lightly. “No, Der, it’s okay. This wasn’t your fault, okay? Please don’t think that. Just...can we try to get some more sleep, maybe? Cuddle me?”

The werewolf studied Stiles for a long, silent moment; the worry still clear in his eyes, the doubt still whispering across their bond. “Yeah,” Derek finally murmured, leaned forward to press tender kisses to Stiles’ lips and forehead. “Yeah okay, c’mere.”

They snuggled back into the sheets, wrapped around each other. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, his nose pressed against Derek’s chest, and listened to Derek breath quietly. Derek petted his hair, flooded their bond with warm affection. It took Stiles half the time he thought it would to fall back asleep, sinking into the peaceful darkness of unconsciousness.

* * *

 Derek stayed up for a few hours after Stiles’...nightmare? He wasn’t sure what had happened. Stiles didn’t want to talk about it, and Derek got that, but it made him nervous. Stiles felt all weird and staticy through the bond, and he twitched and whimpered through most of the early morning. Derek just watched him, dismayed, stroking his hair and pressing soothing kisses to his neck and shoulders.

Eventually, he’d fallen asleep sometime just before dawn, which unsurprisingly threw off his plans for a sunrise breakfast. Derek woke up to the sun slanting in through the windows, rubbed his eyes as he sat up, and squinted around the cabin, looking for his wayward boyfriend. Stiles wasn’t far off, but his missing shoes and hoodie made it clear he’d gone outside. The werewolf huffed, took his time going to the bathroom and brushing his teeth.

Stiles was sitting on the blanket from the night before, leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree near the cabin. Derek sat down next to him, and Stiles listed to the side until his head was propped up on Derek’s shoulder. He felt a lot calmer, if a little blank, when Derek checked the bond.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, after a long moment of silence. He turned his head a bit, pressing his nose against the curve of Derek’s bicep. “I don’t really remember what it was that had me so freaked out, last night. I kind of don’t want to think about it at all, if I’m being honest.”

Derek pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “I overslept,” he said instead of what he actually wanted to say. “I’d planned on taking you for a sunrise breakfast.”

“Dude,” Stiles shook his head with a fond smile. “We’re on the west coast, it’d probably be better to just take me for a sunset super or whatever.”

“Don’t spoil the surprise, dumbass,” Derek teased.

“Drats, whatever shall I do, I have ruined your wondrous surprise,” Stiles cried dramatically.

“Go back inside and get dressed,” Derek said, and lightly shoved Stiles sideways before getting up and heading inside himself. “We’re going hiking.”

Stiles groaned. “You suck.”

Derek laughed, held the door open for Stiles, and caught his mate around the waist as he walked through the door. “Saving that for later,” he teased, and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ mouth. Stiles made an outraged sound, his hands coming up to cup Derek’s face in spite of himself. Derek smiled into the kiss, basked in the warm, bubbling happiness flooding through their bond.

“So should I wear something warm or what?” Stiles asked as he pulled away from the kiss after a few long moments, his cheeks flushed. Derek considered him for a bit, watching as Stiles walked over to the end of the bed and grabbed up his duffel bag. Stiles glanced at him over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

“Dress for a hike, bring a hoodie,” Derek said, and started pulling his sleep clothes off as he walked over to his own bag. He changed quickly, glancing up to see Stiles’ tattoo disappear beneath an Iron Man shirt.

He moved around the bed as Stiles sat down, muttering about wayward socks as he searched through the bag. Stiles pulled out a cookie tin Derek remembered seeing Peter shove at him as Stiles had left the house, and the human eyed it dubiously. Derek sat down next to him, making Stiles bounce in place on the mattress. Stiles grumbled a little, and the werewolf leaned into him, breathed lightly against the side of Stiles’ neck before softly dragging his nose across Stiles’ temple.

“What’s that?” He asked, tapping his finger against the lid of the tin.

“Don’t know,” Stiles shrugged, leaned further into Derek. “Peter shoved it at me as I was leaving the house. I forgot about it.”

“I saw him hand them to you,” Derek revealed, shrugging a little. “Didn’t think anything of it.”

There was a note taped to the lid that read:

_Happy mini-vacation, kids! Enjoy! - Dad &Peter_

Derek snorted and plucked a pair of socks out of Stiles’ bag. “Did they make us cookies?” He asked, a little incredulously, and handed the socks to his boyfriend.

Stiles took them absently, frowning down at the tin thoughtfully. “I wish,” he mumbled, wistful. “Dad makes these really spectacular peanut butter and white chocolate cookies. My mom _loved_ them, swore up and down that those cookies were the only reason she agreed to marry him.”

He lost himself in thought, and Derek squeezed his knee comfortingly before getting up off the bed to hunt down his camera. Something his therapist suggested, once Derek admitted that he’d actively avoided things like that. Pictures, permanent momentos. All the family pictures had been lost in the fire, and part of Derek was afraid that if he had pictures to put up, something would destroy that too. He shook himself from his thoughts and refocused on rooting through his bag.

“Stupid zombie-wolves, always out to make my life difficult,” Stiles grumbled under his breath a few minutes later. Derek huffed in amusement, and Stiles glared back petulantly, fingers scrabbling with the lid. Derek rolled his eyes fondly, wondered if the camera fell out in the trunk.

“Damn, I was really hoping for cooki- ” Stiles started, sentence choked off in the middle. “...what? What the _fuck_!?” He screeched, and the sound of tin smacking into the wall echoed around the cabin.

Derek stilled, blinked, and turned to raise a questioning eyebrow at his mate. Stiles, however, was too busy looking mortified - he felt it even worse through the bond - to notice; his entire face a bright, _interesting_ shade of red and his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Derek started to ask what was wrong, but it was like Stiles sensed the incoming question because he shook his head rapidly and pointed at the other side of the room.

Whatever had been in the cookie tin was scattered across the floor, different sized, multicolored squares arcing around it like a blast zone. Derek walked over to them, brow furrowed, and picked one up in confusion.  At first glance, he knew it was Peter’s work. A cartoon version of the sheriff on green construction paper stared back at him, looking stern, with a speech bubble stating:

_Yeah, I gave you condoms. Doesn’t mean I approve of the potentially wild werewolf sex you’ll be having._

He blinked, picked up another one with a cartoon version of Peter, reminding him that Stiles _won’t be 18 until January fifth, you’re a werewolf! Exert some control!_ Derek flipped the square over, and promptly dropped it like he’d been burned, his face bright red because _yes they were actual condoms._

At least, Derek figured as he studied them, Peter and Caleb had been considerate enough to give them a myriad of sizes. Even if Derek wanted to throttle his uncle, because he knew this was more than likely Peter’s idea. It had Peter’s name all over it. Or face, mostly. He heaved a sigh and shook his head, kneeling down to scoop them back into the cookie tin.

“I’ll give them points for creativity.”

Stiles made an outraged noise and threw his hands up, like he couldn’t believe Derek wasn’t more embarrassed. A moment later, his eyes went wide and he groaned loudly. “Oh my god! _That’s_ what my dad was complaining about when he yelled at Peter for leaving their Walgreens bag out!”

“What?”

“In the spring, I overheard my dad chastising Peter for leaving the Walgreens bag with all of their boxes of condoms just sitting out in the living room! It’s how I found out about their relationship. Ugh, I was too horrified to think about the possibilities.”

Derek wrinkled his nose, because _he_ didn’t want to think about the possibilities. He knew what Stiles was getting at. Peter and Caleb were _werewolves_ , it was unlikely those two were practicing safe sex even before Caleb took the bite. Derek shuddered, creeped out by his own thoughts, and joined Stiles on the edge of the bed.

“Peter pulled a similar prank on Laura when she brought home her first girlfriend,” Derek revealed.

“That...is actually really unsurprising, if I’m honest. Peter is such an asshole. Ugh, so is my _dad_ ,” Stiles finished in a hiss, his eyes narrowed at the tin full of cartoon-ized condoms. “We have to find a way to get back at them.”

“How do you suggest we do that?” Derek asked dubiously. Peter was almost impossible to prank. Derek knew. He’d tried.

Stiles made a face. “Make them think we used some, duh?”

“Werewolves,” Derek pointed out flatly.

“Oh, right...super sniffers.”

Derek snorted and kissed Stiles’ temple, stood up to grab his shoes. “We can think of something to get them back with. Your mind is devious enough, it shouldn’t be too hard. I gotta check the trunk for something, then we can go.”

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled, pleased, and put his socks on.

* * *

 “How,” Stiles panted, hands on his knees and face sweaty, “can you consider this _leisure hiking_?”

Derek rolled his eyes and handed Stiles a bottle of water he’d stashed in their bag. “I thought you were training with Boyd and Argent for endurance and shit?”

“Oh fuck you, dude, I’m sure as hell not training for _this_. Crazy people, Derek. I’m one hundred percent certain only crazy people like this!” Stiles huffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“What does it say about you, then?” Derek teased, biting into a piece of beef jerky. “Because _I_ like hiking, and you like me.”

Stiles groaned like Derek was killing him. “Oh my god, you’re such a friggin’ dork.”

Derek hummed and offered Stiles some of the beef jerky. Stiles took a piece, popping it into his mouth after another long drink of water.

“This is nice,” Stiles mumbled a while later, leaned back against a tree as he watched Derek stretch. He tilted his head back, squinting up at the tree tops and exposing the long line of his throat. “It’s so quiet.”

“Mm,” Derek agreed, staggering to keep his balance when his gaze snagged on Stiles neck, and he padded over to sit beside his mate. Stiles smiled, tilted his head to the side, and Derek rumbled happily, stroked his fingers across Stiles’ pulse.

It _was_ quiet, most of the animals keeping well away from the hiking trail. There was the wind in the trees, and the soft, steady beating of their hearts. Derek loved it; wanted to capture it somehow and take it home with him. It was the most peaceful he’d felt since before the fire.

“I almost don’t want to leave, it’s so peaceful,” Stiles whispered, reverently.

Derek smiled and brushed his knuckles across Stiles’ cheek. “Well, we’re going to have to. Unless you want to skip lunch.”

“Nooooo,” Stiles groaned, slumped over into Derek. “We’re absolutely not skipping lunch, dude. I  need to eat, like, twice my weight in curly fries or something, to make up for all of this walking.”

“Right,” Derek snorted, and elbowed Stiles’ side gently. He stood up, and turned to raise an expectant eyebrow at his mate. “I’m not kidding about missing lunch.”

Stiles heaved a put upon sigh and used Derek’s leg to pull himself up. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Oh my god you don’t even watch _Supernatural._ ”

“But you and Jackson won’t shut the fuck up about it.”

* * *

“...Horses? You’re taking me on a horseback ride?” Stiles asked in a totally calm, not shrill voice shut up Derek. The end of the trail led to a secluded beach, and Stiles stopped at the edge of the sand to stare between his boyfriend and the brown wolf sitting beside a gigantic horse. Derek continued towards the duo, like it was perfectly normal for a wolf and a horse to be standing around a deserted beach. “What the hell?”

The wolf loped up to Derek, shifting into a very naked middle-aged woman in between one step and the next. She smiled warmly and nodded. “Alpha Hale.”

“Alpha Xiang,” Derek greeted, bared his throat briefly, and then allowed her to draw him into a fierce hug.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and walked over to the werewolves, feeling a little annoyed and a lot confused. Alpha Xiang smiled when Stiles was within reach, extended her hand in greeting. Stiles hesitated a moment, glancing to Derek uncertainly. He hadn’t had the chance to discuss interpack politics with Peter, so he wasn’t sure what the proper procedure was. Derek smiled and nodded encouragingly, though, so Stiles shook her hand.

“It’s so good to see you Derek. We heard about the rogue on Hale territory, all those rumors, about Laura, and Peter, and you.”

Derek grimaced. “Most of what you’ve heard is probably true. Peter came out of his...healing, I guess we should call it, completely out of his mind. Things were bad for a while, but they’re starting to get better. But Lona, I’d like you to meet my mate, Stiles. Stiles, this is Lona Xiang. Her pack took Laura and me in right after the fire. She taught Laura control, after the sudden increase from receiving the alpha powers from our mother.”

“Laura did not need much help,” Lona said with a fond little smile. “Though I do recall Melinda praising Laura’s control quite a lot. She was always so proud of her children. But it is nice to meet you, Stiles. It makes me happy to hear that Derek has someone.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, ma’am.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, eyes glued to her forehead. She was still v _ery much naked_ , and Stiles wasn’t quite used to...naked, yet. Derek usually slipped into a pair of sweats as soon as he could after coming out of a full shift, and the others never seemed to lose more than their shirts, shoes, and socks.

Lona inhaled deeply. “You are not human, and you are not wolf. Please forgive me for being nosy, but what are you?”

Stiles startled, blinking wide eyes at her. “I am human?”

“You don’t smell human.”

“I don’t?” Stiles squeaked, then twisted to glare at his boyfriend. “What is she talking about?”

Derek sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Stiles, you know.”

“No I don’t! Deaton doesn’t tell me shit about anything!”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Deaton? No, you are certainly not the same as him. He still smells human.” Lona said, looking thoughtful.

Derek shook his head, putting a large, warm hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. “Stiles is human where it counts, Lona. I’d rather keep others’ knowledge limited to just that.”

Lona bowed her head, her hair falling forward in a long black curtain over her face. “Of course, Derek.” She turned towards the horse, making a soft clicking sound. “You remember Mulan, I’m sure.”

The horse, Mulan, walked over to them slowly, pressed her nose to Lona’s bare shoulder. Lona patted Mulan’s neck, smiling brightly as she whispered soft words. Derek smiled, leaned over to kiss Stiles’ temple briefly, and took a step forward with his palm up.

“Hey there, Mulan, long time no see, huh?”

Mulan snorted, snuffled Derek’s hand, and whinnied, stamping her hooves excitedly. Lona laughed, scratched her neck. “Yeah, you definitely remember Derek. I bet it was all those sugar cubes.”

“Ha ha,” Derek huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Is it rude to ask why you named your horse Mulan?”

“I let my niece name her, and she was going through a Mulan phase at the time,”  Lona smirked and folded her arms over her chest. “Though, I’m not entirely sure my niece ever left that phase. Of course now she idolizes both the Disney movie heroine and the woman she was based on.”

Stiles blinked twice. “Oh, cool. Mulan’s a great movie.”

Lona laughed and ruffled Derek’s hair. “He’s certainly a keeper. You remember how to get back to the ranch, right? Law will give you boys a ride back to your cabin.”

“I remember,” Derek confirmed, and scratched Mulan’s nose. “Even if I didn’t, I’m sure she could get us back all on her own.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lona grinned, flashed her eyes. “I’ll see you two later.” She turned and started

into a run, jumping and shifting back to her wolf form mid-air, sleek and quick. The wolf disappeared into the trees moments later, and Stiles stared after her in awe.

“Dude, awesome,” he muttered.

Derek chuckled and grabbed up Stiles by his hips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d be a little jealous.”

“Ugh, Derek, she’s old enough to be my mom, you weirdo,” Stiles whined, smacking Derek’s shoulder. “And what the hell are you doing?”

“Can you get up onto Mulan without my help?”

Stiles turned and stared at the horse. “I think I get the bareback joke, now, you asshole,” he grumbled and thumped his head against Derek’s shoulder. “Fine, assist away.”

The werewolf snorted and lifted Stiles up onto Mulan’s back. “That joke is multifaceted, you’ve only scratched the surface.” He swung up onto Mulan easily, settled himself behind Stiles and pulled the human against his chest.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much,” Stiles groaned. “You’re the worst. The. Worst.”

“Don’t pout, it’s not nearly as cute as you think it is,” Derek teased, and eased Mulan along the beach with gentle hands and some whistling command.

They meandered across the sand for awhile, quietly, before Derek tapped Mulan’s neck and she turned onto another trail Stiles didn’t think people knew about. Stiles settled further back into Derek, his fingers curling into the bottom of Mulan’s mane. He let his thoughts wander, to the research probably currently on Lydia’s desk, to his worries about Scott. To his dream from the night before.

“Why did you never talk about Lona?” Stiles asked in an attempt to keep his mind off the dream.

Derek made a thoughtful sound, pressing his chin into Stiles’ shoulder lightly. “I don’t know. I guess because I didn’t want to think too much about my life directly after the fire, and because I didn’t want to remember how alone I was without Laura.”

Stiles turned his head, caught Derek’s mouth with his in a chaste kiss. “You’ll have to tell me about it, sometime. You’re obviously comfortable on Mulan, and riding her without reins and a saddle.”

“Probably has something to do with refusing to sleep anywhere but the barn for the first several months I spent at Lona’s ranch. Laura was livid, but she refused to alpha order me into sleeping in an actual bed in the guest house. I think she maybe saw what spending time with the horses was doing for me.”

“Oh,” Stiles sighed. “Why’d you guys move to New York, then?” He sought out Derek’s hand with his free one, lacing their fingers together.

Derek kissed Stiles’ pulse. “Hunters. There were rumors that there were hunters looking to kill the rest of the Hales. Laura and I didn’t want to put Lona and her pack at risk like that. She’s only got one beta, her little brother, and the rest of the pack consists of a jumble of other supernatural creatures. Her niece was only six, at the time.”

They fell into silence again, Mulan carrying them through a field scattered with wild flowers. Stiles peered up at the sky, squinting against the sunlight. “Dude, you promised me lunch. This doesn’t look like lunch, boo.”

The werewolf huffed and nipped Stiles’ ear. “Patience, something you sorely lack. I don’t know why I thought it was a brilliant rebuttal.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m the asshole keeping you from falling off this horse,” Derek retorted. “Relax, Stiles, we’re almost to the spot.”

Stiles chuckled and tapped the fingers of their conjoined hands against Derek’s knuckles. “The spot. It almost sounds like it should be capitalized. The Spot. Why does that sound familiar? Is that an actual thing? Like a restaurant? Or maybe it’s from a tv show?”

Derek hummed thoughtfully. “Probably both. It’s not like people are original.”

“Ha, true. But man this lunch better be worth it. I’m so hungry - ”

“Please don’t finish that with ‘I could eat a horse’. Don’t go there, don’t make that pun.”

“Literally no fun, I swear,” Stiles whined. “Fun sucker!”

“Not in a while. A situation that could be fixed, if you want, of course.”

Stiles twisted around to gape incredulously at Derek, nearly falling off Mulan in the process. Derek tightened his arms around Stiles’ waist, and huffed in exasperation. “Dude! You can’t just say shit like that!”

“Took your mind off of lunch long enough for us to reach the spot, didn’t it?”

Derek pointed at a half-circle of trees where a blanket was spread out beneath them, a small cooler situated in one corner and a bunch of pillows in the other. Stiles’ mouth snapped shut and he blinked at the display in shock. Derek pressed closer to Stiles’ back, kissing the top knob of Stiles’ spine.

“Speechless?”

“A little.”

“Good,” Derek smiled against his shoulder.

Mulan stopped at the edge of semi-circle, and Derek slipped from her back gracefully. He turned to Stiles, offered him a hand, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles’ hips, lifting him off of Mulan’s back. Stiles made an unimpressed noise and smacked Derek’s shoulder lightly until his feet were planted back in the grass.

“Show off.”

“You like it,” Derek said with a smirk, and walked over to the blankets.

Stiles huffed, smiled despite himself, and followed Derek. The werewolf gestured at the pillows, and Stiles dropped onto the blankets, crawled over to them while Derek got into the cooler and started pulling out their lunch. Stiles flopped back into the pillows and stared up at the sky through the leaves.

“So,” Stiles started after a moment of silence, hesitated and licked his lips. “That dream, it, uh, I don’t really know. I can’t stop thinking about it, which pisses me off because I _don’t want to think about it_. I don’t even know why it upset me so much.”

Derek carefully sat down a container of brownies and turned to give Stiles his full attention. “Can you tell me about it? Maybe it’ll help you figure out why you were so upset by it.”

“I,” Stiles sighed, drug his hands across his face. “I mean I don’t remember much of it, really. I just remember that you were in it, and so was I, but like, there were two of me? Like _I_ was watching you and the other me doing...something, and I was shouting for you but you couldn’t hear me or see me. It was freaky as fuck, and like, I think you guys were shooting targets or something? There were guns involved, and sex maybe?”

“Guns?” Derek mumbled, blinking. He absently passed Stiles a tuna sandwich, took a bite of his own turkey sandwich. “That...do you know anything about guns? Besides what Caleb probably taught you from a young age, being a cop’s kid.”

“Well yeah, I was kind of very interested in them for a while when I was like thirteen,” Stiles shrugged, and started eating his sandwich. “But it was weird. The other me, he just seemed...different I guess. It felt like his knowledge was not the same as mine. And you, you knew some stuff about guns too. Whether you do or not in real life obviously means nothing to my dream, but it just...you two were sort of dry humping each other while shooting targets? I don’t really have a gun kink.”

Derek’s face turned bright red, and he hid it behind his sandwich. He cleared his throat, ran his free hand through his hair, said, “I uh...this is probably going to sound insane, but was the other you wearing a green sweater?”

Stiles frowned, sandwich halfway to his mouth, and stared at Derek. “I think? What the hell, dude?”

The werewolf sat the last of his sandwich to the side, shaking his head in disbelief. “Dreamwalking,” he said. “When I started researching the myths about Protectors, I came across one that mentioned a Protector’s ability to dreamwalk.”

“ _Dreamwalk?_ ” Stiles hissed, and rubbed his face with both hands. “Like a ‘run around somebody else’s dream’ type of situation?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait! Are you telling me you were having a _sex dream about me_ and I somehow _wandered into it_ like I was going to the fucking movies?”

Derek’s blush darkened, and he cast his eyes away from Stiles. “I...was having a sex dream about you, and it sort of seems like you stumbled into it.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed, eyes wide. He scrubbed his face, sank back against the pile of pillows with a groan. “Oh my _god_.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, his face pinched with concern.

Stiles shot up and tapped Derek’s nose with his finger. “If that was your dream...you have a gun kink!”

“I, yes?” Derek flushed and cleared his throat. “A little.”

“Holy crap, I can’t believe… I feel like a moron because I’m _still jealous_  of dream!me, like what the hell?”

Derek sighed and threw a chunk of melon at Stiles’ face. “Yes, I’m a werewolf with a gun kink. Let me know when the novelty wears off and we can focus on the fact your powers/abilities seem to be _growing_.”

Stiles made a disgruntled noise and popped the melon chunk into his mouth. “Shut up, dude, I’m trying not to think about it. I might be jealous of you wolves’ super-strength, the healing factor, but dude...I would be an absolutely _useless_ werewolf. And now I’m, what, evolving like a goddamn Pokemon?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, frowning fiercely. “You’re not…you wouldn’t,” he stuttered, growled in frustration and pulled Stiles into his lap instead. He pressed his face into Stiles’ neck, a soft, desperate whine humming in the back of his throat. Stiles swallowed thickly, startled, and threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair, his heart hammering and the bond swelling with a swirl of indiscernible emotions.

“Sorry,” Stiles whispered, trying not to feel sick. They really hadn’t...talked about the bond, and most days Stiles was okay with that. Most days Stiles didn’t think too hard on how it got there. Then there were the days he did, the days he hated himself for taking away Derek’s choice to have it, the days that other things bogged his mind down and kept it trapped in places of darkness and guilt.

Derek bit the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder lightly, a hurt growl-whine vibrating through his chest. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but, just,” Derek huffed and pulled back to lock eyes with Stiles. “Don’t apologize for feeling, Stiles, just don’t.”

Stiles curled into Derek, hid his face against the werewolf’s shoulder, and sighed heavily. Derek hugged him tight to his chest, hands smoothing down Stiles’ back and settling on the human’s hips. They stayed like that for quite a bit, quiet and lost as Mulan ambled around the field munching on grass and flowers.

“I totally ruined lunch,” Stiles muttered eventually, mouth brushing the skin of Derek’s collarbone.

“No,” Derek said, turned his head to press a kiss to the side of Stiles’ head. “We already ate our sandwiches, everything else is fine.” He reached over to the small bowl of fruit and picked up a chunk of watermelon, shrugging his shoulder to get Stiles to sit up. Stiles rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, and Derek smiled as he fed him the watermelon.

“Don’t argue with me,” Stiles said around the fruit, licking his lips. “You know what I mean.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, leaned forward to kiss him. “I _want_ you to talk to me, if and when you need to; I want to be here for you.”

Stiles laid his head on Derek’s shoulder, staring out at the trees. There was a chickadee sitting on one of the lower branches of an oak, cleaning its feathers. Stiles closed his eyes and squirmed until his legs were wrapped around Derek’s waist. The alpha sighed softly, his nose pressed to Stiles’ hair, inhaling his scent with every breath.

“I’m really glad you made sneaky-sneaky plants for us this weekend. This place is so...amazing. Is it weird that it feels like the earth here is humming with something? It’s very calming, in a different way than the Preserve back home.”

Derek dragged his nose down the side of Stiles’ neck, breath hot and wet on his collarbone. “No,” the werewolf murmured into his skin. “And it makes sense, your powers - or whatever you want to call them - probably stem from the earth, from earth magic.”

“Mm, maybe,” Stiles hummed, drew in a shaky breath as Derek mouthed at his jaw. He tightened the grip of his legs around Derek’s waist, and bit down on his lip when his mate slipped a broad hand under Stiles’ shirt, stroking his thumb across Stiles’ spine.

“We gonna argue about what you may or may not be?” Derek murmured and scraped blunt nails down Stiles’ back.

Stiles inhaled sharply, his eyes slipping shut. “No. Not fair,” he gasped, shivered under Derek’s hands, and bared his throat. Derek groaned approvingly and mouthed at Stiles’ pulse, sucking a vivid bruise into the delicate skin of his neck. Stiles moaned and pressed himself closer to Derek.

“You complaining?” Derek asked teasingly, and bent his head a little more to suck another bruise just beneath the first.

“Nooo,” Stiles moaned, his fingers spasming on Derek’s shoulder. He rolled his hips down, suddenly desperate for some friction against his erection. Derek groaned against Stiles’ throat, pressing his own erection against Stiles’ ass.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he sighed, and when he pulled his mouth away from Stiles’ skin his eyes were bright red.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, and swooped down to kiss Derek, their teeth clicking.

Derek pulled back after several long, heated moments, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving. “Stiles,” he said, voice hoarse, and cleared his throat. “Stiles, I…”

Stiles pressed his face into Derek’s shoulder and nodded. Derek felt muddled and anxious through their bond, a little conflicted. He petted Derek’s hair and forced himself to calm down. Derek sighed softly and hugged Stiles to him tightly, his heartbeat calming beneath Stiles’.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured a little while later.

“Don’t be,” Stiles said, and smiled reassuringly at him. “I’m not mad or anything, okay? And you don’t have to explain yourself; not unless you want to.”

Derek lifted Stiles up enough to get them both laying down on the blankets, then wrapped himself around his mate, his face tucked into the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder. “Thanks,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the topic of Derek's gun kink in this 'verse. Mostly you can blame gifsets - for I have not actually seen s4 - of Derek holding/using a gun in season 4. Also it's how I logic away one of the factors of Kate. Because there isn't really any canon confirmation about whether Derek knew Kate was a hunter or not - at least none that I'm aware of - and I find it a little hard to believe that Kate wouldn't use her skills as a way to prove to a werewolf that she can take care of herself/try to impress a teenage boy with guns. But I really am trying to keep season 3/4 influences away from this 'verse, or at least this fic. Also tbh I find the idea of Derek being turned on by gun competent!Stiles pretty damn hot, so there. o-O


	10. mama knew best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title from The Borders' 'Mama Knew Best']  
> (Tbh I don't even remember how I found the song _Mama Knew Best_ , but I liked it so there)
> 
> I meant to get this up last week, but that didn't happen for various reasons. Oh well. It'll be a New Year's present, instead.
> 
> Hopefully I managed to fix the pacing/transition. If not, well. I promise you it was 100% rougher than what you see now. Or maybe I just hate everything I write. Or all of the above. ~~It's all of the above.~~ In all seriousness, I'm getting a little stressed out about some stuff IRL, and it's kinda fucking with my creative flow or whatever. Mostly this means I sit and stare at the blinking cursor on gdocs for even longer than normal and then hide under my blankets because I can't get the words to flow. Writer's block, I guess. Stress-induced. I hate working through them because everything always feels extremely forced and I hate what I manage to produce 1000x more than the stuff I write when I'm full steam ahead.
> 
> And now that that mini-venting session is out of the way, enjoy the chapter and I hope you enjoy/ed your new year's eve wherever you are!

_~mama knew best~_

* * *

 

 **From Blondie:** _your ass better be at the pack house at 3!!!_  
 **From Blondie:** _band stuffffffffff_  
 **From Blondie:** _STILESSSSSSSS_

Stiles sighed and yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. It was _nine in the morning_ , on a damn _Saturday_. He wasn’t supposed to be up that early, and certainly not because Erica was blowing up his phone.

 **To Blondie:** _gdi erica i’ll be there but it’s NINE IN THE MORNING LEMME SLEEP IN PEACE_

He rolled onto his stomach, buried his face in his pillow, and let his phone drop to the floor. It vibrated angrily, and Stiles sighed heavily as he rolled straight off of his bed. Clearly he wasn’t getting anymore sleep. He lifted up onto his shoulders and toes, clawed his phone out from underneath his back, and unlocked the screen with a grumble as he dropped back down to the floor fully.

 **From Blondie:** _IT’S 9 IN THE AFTERNOOOOON_  
 **From Blondie:** _AND YOUR EYES ARE THE SIZE OF THE MOOOOOON_

“Oh my god, I hate you,” Stiles groaned.

 **To Blondie:** _omg i HATE you_  
 **From Blondie:** _hey if i have 2b up this early so do u_

Stiles huffed and tossed his phone onto his bed. He could hear either Peter or his dad down in the kitchen, bang-clanging away like one of them was cooking. The thought of food had Stiles’ mouth watering, and he pushed himself up off of the floor with minimal flailing. Stiles gave the papers strewn all over his desk - more research, more potential leads _thanks Scott_ \- and made a face. There was a brand new, blank journal off to the side. Deaton had given it to him with the instructions to start writing down everything he could remember from any and all dreams, after Stiles had mentioned they were becoming incredibly vivid. Stiles wasn’t sure what the man’s play was, but he figured he could go along with it for the time being. It wasn’t like he had to show Deaton that journal, anyway.

“Stiles!”

“Yo daddy-o?” Stiles shouted as he stepped out of his room.

“You better get up if you want breakfast,” Caleb shouted from the kitchen. “I’ve gotta get to work.”

Caleb was flipping pancakes onto a plate when Stiles entered the kitchen. He offered Stiles the plate, absently swiped flour off of his cheek, and called Peter from wherever the hell he was. Stiles took the proffered plate with a sleepy smile and walked the four steps over to the counter, hopping up onto it. Caleb shook his head and turned to pour himself more coffee.

“How are you on your Adderall? I know you’re about due for a refill.”

“Called it in yesterday afternoon, gotta pick it up today,” Stiles said around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Mm,” Caleb hummed, starting a new batch of pancakes, “I’ll leave you some money for that, then.”

“Shanks,” Stiles garbled around a mouthful of pancake.

Caleb sighed fondly. “How have manners eluded you for so long? I know Anwen and I taught you some.”

Stiles swallowed his mouthful and made an indignant noise. “I have manners! I just use them sparingly, when the situation calls for them.” He grinned, and Caleb rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“You sound just like your mother,” he muttered under his breath, and cracked an egg, dumping it into the pancake batter and tossing the shell into the sink.

“Ew,” Stiles wrinkled his nose and gave his father a judgemental look. “Why are you putting an egg _into_ the pancake batter?”

“It’s how Peter likes them,” Caleb said simply, shrugging.

Peter strolled into the kitchen just then, sleep mussed and scowly, and pressed a kiss to Caleb’s shoulder before shuffling over to the coffee pot. Stiles made a face and stuffed more pancake into his mouth. Caleb laughed and poked at his monstrosity with the spatula.

“Your mom’s the one who introduced me to this wondrous hybrid,” Peter mumbled and leaned against the counter  opposite Stiles. “So don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. It’s really quite delicious.”

“Yuck,” Stiles whined. “That’s so weird. _Why_?”

Caleb frowned thoughtfully. “You know, she didn’t really make her pancakes this way much after we moved to Beacon Hills. I have absolutely no idea why.”

Stiles quieted down, his eyes darting between Peter and his dad. Peter made a considering noise and tapped his fingers against the metal edge of the sink.

“She used to eat this gross-looking concoction of vanilla pudding and cinnamon applesauce. She stopped not long before she met you,” Peter revealed with a little shrug. “At least she never stopped making eggplant parmesan.”

A pang of longing shot through Stiles, and he smiled sadly at the remnants of his breakfast. He was so grateful his dad could talk about his mother, finally. It had always stung a little, being unable to bring her up, unable to talk about all the good memories with her unless his father was halfway into his second bottle. Even if the journey left a lot to be desired, Stiles was glad Peter was in his dad’s life again.

Peter tilted his head, and a moment later so did Caleb. Stiles quirked an eyebrow at them and swiped the last of his pancakes around the plate before shoving them into his mouth. Peter snorted and flicked his fingers towards the front hall.

“Scott.”

“Ah,” Stiles hummed. He hopped off of the counter and went over to the sink, nudging Peter out of the way before rinsing off his plate. “Wonder if he sent me a text first.”

Stiles headed back towards his bedroom, making a brief detour to open the front door for Scott. He was in the process of yanking on one of Derek’s shirts when Scott walked through the bedroom door. The werewolf smelled like the vet clinic, and Stiles wondered what the hell Scott had been doing there so early on a _Saturday_.

“What’s up dude?”

“Deaton called me this morning,” Scott said around a yawn. “Needed help with one of the dogs. I guess she went into labor at like two in the morning. He has no clue what he’s going to do with the puppies. The momma dog was a stray someone brought in, which is really surprising because Deaton thinks she’s a purebred.”

“That is weird,” Stiles agreed, and glanced at the time. “Dude, you wanna play some COD for a little bit?”

Scott’s face lit up. “Can we play Halo instead?”

“Hell yeah!”

Stiles waved a hand towards the hallway, and followed Scott downstairs. Caleb waved to them before rushing out the front door, a fading bruise on the side of his neck peeking out over his shirt collar. Peter meandered through the living room, silently smug, and grabbed up his sketch book before disappearing to wherever it was he disappeared to.

“That’s never not going to be weird,” Scott said, wrinkling his nose in the direction Peter’d gone. “It really, really isn’t.”

“He makes my dad happy, and he seems not-homicidal or psychopathic. Both Derek and my dad say he’s just like he was before the fire.”

Scott flopped down onto the couch, making himself comfortable and catching the xBox controller Stiles tossed at him. “You’re not worried?”

“Honestly?” Stiles hesitated. He knew Peter was still within hearing distance. He knew that sometimes it was hard not to hear what people said, especially if you knew they were talking about you. Stiles licked his lips and turned to dig out the other controller. “Yeah, a little. I’m always worried, and I don’t know if it stems from this need to protect my dad, or from the knowledge of what Peter is capable of - out of his mind or not - or if it’s a little bit of both.”

“Huh,” Scott huffed sympathetically. “I guess I’d feel pretty conflicted, too, if I was in your place.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and set up the game. “Dude, you kinda were, and you made _me_ interrupt their date before it could ever happen.”

“He was definitely crazy at that point, though!” Scott said, indignant. “Tell me you wouldn’t do everything in your power to keep your dad from Peter if he was running around murdering people.”

“Scott, buddy, my dad would probably be first in line to either arrest him or shoot him, no matter how much it would kill him to do it,” Stiles made a face and sat down next to Scott. “Now can we stop talking about my dad’s relationship and play some Halo? I’m sensing a victory pizza in my future.”

“In your _dreams_ ,” Scott shot back, smiling playfully.

“You’re on, wolf-boy.”

Some hours later, Scott’s phone rang, startling him so badly he dropped his controller thereby granting Stiles a clean kill. Scott whacked Stiles in the head with a pillow and answered his phone. Stiles laughed and kicked the werewolf’s leg in retaliation before rolling himself off of the couch. He inch-wormed his way over to the tv stand, turned the xBox and tv off, and rolled over onto his back. Stiles recognized the ringtone, and that ringtone meant it was highly likely Scott was going to run off. Which was actually really convenient, given that Stiles still had to pick up his prescription and get over to the pack house.

It was half past one, already.

He listened to Scott murmur into the phone, his mind wandering. Poked at the bond, felt contentment and a strange cocktail of relieved-guilty-sad-happy. He’d forgotten Derek had therapy that afternoon. Stiles focused fully on the bond, like Deaton had been teaching him to, and tried to relay through his own feelings how much he wanted to provide Derek comfort in that moment and every other moment.

“Hey, dude,” Scott said, voice strained like he’d maybe been trying to get Stiles’ attention for a bit, finally snapping Stiles’ focus. He tucked his phone away, face shifting from exasperated to sheepish the instant he was certain he had Stiles’ attention. “Allison needs my help with something. You cool if I take off?

Stiles smiled reassuringly. “Yeah, no worries buddy! I gotta go pick up my Adderall refill then meet Erica, Boyd, and Jackson for youtube stuff. But it was awesome to have some Scott’n’Stiles time, bro. I missed it.”

Scott beamed and tackled Stiles into a hug. “Me too, bro! I am really sorry I’ve been such a lousy friend. I took you for granted; you’ve always just been there for me. But I’m glad you’re making more friends, bonding with pack, honestly, even if I act like a butthead and get jealous. You totally deserve to have all their love, because you’re awesome.”

“I - ...thanks, Scotty,” Stiles said, throat thick with emotion.

“Just telling the truth, dude,” Scott said with a fond smile, and rubbed his face on Stiles’ shoulder affectionately.

“Oh my god, Scott,” Stiles laughed, shoved Scott off of him with a groan of mock irritation. “Way to ruin the moment. And hey! We’ve talked about this.”

“Chill out, man, Derek’ll be super insistent about replacing my scent with his,” Scott teased and winked. “I’m practically guaranteeing you aggressive cuddling!”

“Shut up, you’re such a dick!”

Scott grinned, proud. “Don’t front with me, dude. Aggressive cuddles are your favorite.”

Stiles threw a pillow at Scott’s face, grumbling when he easily dodged it, and pushed himself up off the floor. “Doesn’t mean you’re not a dick,” he retorted smoothly, and headed towards the stairs. “I gotta go put actual clothes on, society and shit.”

“See you later, buttface,” Scott laughed, and swept out the front door before Stiles could get the last word.

“You’re the buttface,” Stiles grumbled as he climbed the stairs. He shuffled into his bedroom and narrowed his eyes at the clothes strewn across the floor. His favorite pair of jeans were balled up in the corner, and he grabbed them up, shaking them out. They seemed relatively clean, and they didn’t smell gross, so Stiles shrugged and pulled them on after stripping out of his pajama pants.

Making sure he had his phone, keys, and the money his dad had set aside for the Adderall, Stiles headed out to the jeep, locking the house up behind him. He wasn’t entirely sure if Peter was still there or if he’d fucked off, but it’s not like Peter _would_ care if Stiles had locked him in the house.

The drive to Walgreens wasn’t very long, and soon enough he was pulling into a space near one of the light poles. He put the jeep in park, shut it off, and fell out of the driver’s side like he always did. An old woman stared at him, clutching her Walgreens bag and looking completely scandalized. It probably had something to do with the massive hickey at the hinge of his jaw (that everyone teased him about and his father rolled his eyes at), like Derek had to prove just how easily Stiles bruised. Stiles waggled his eyebrows at her and headed towards the entrance before she could hit him with her purse.

There was a glint of something metallic in Stiles’ peripheral that made him pause. He glanced around until he caught sight of a chickadee perched on the pharmacy sign with something clutched in its beak. It opened one eye, looked directly at Stiles, ruffled its feathers, and flapped its wings twice before settling again. It closed its eye after a moment longer, and Stiles hurried into the store, suddenly spooked.

He decided, as he joined the queue for the pharmacy, that he did not have time to wonder about weird birds. It was probably nothing, and Stiles didn’t have all that long before he was meant to be at the Hale house. Erica would make him regret showing up late - he knew from _experience_. Which hopefully meant he wasn’t going to spend forever in line.

Stiles peered around the few people in front of him, and saw Mr. Fisher pacing back and forth behind the counter. Stiles let out a breath of relief. Mr. Fisher meant the line would move relatively quickly. He was very efficient, for a guy who looked way older than the retirement age.

As the line moved, Stiles kept himself entertained by reading the condom boxes set up nearby. He was tempted to buy a box to leave out for Peter and his dad to find, because he’d yet to get them back for their practical joke; decided against it, ultimately, when he contemplated the various ways Peter could find to make it weird. Like make use of them. And then find a way to let Stiles know exactly what happened to them.

Any other way to prank them with the condoms might backfire and give his dad the impression that Stiles and Derek stepped up their relationship. Stiles didn’t want that, for various reasons starting with he did not need the awkward conversation with his dad that was sure to bring up and also it was totally nobody’s business but Stiles and Derek’s. He knew his friends liked to tease each other and over share, but Stiles felt very protective of his and Derek’s relationship, didn’t like the idea of the others knowing.

“Stiles,” Mr. Fisher greeted, startling Stiles out of his reverie, and gave Stiles a look. “Thinking about purchasing a box?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Stiles squeaked, his face bright red, and dropped the box of XXL condoms he’d been holding like they’d burnt him. “No, just my Adderall today.”

Mr. Fisher smirked and turned to retrieve the prescription. “If I were you, kid, I’d consider buying condoms in a different town. You know how everyone gossips; your father’d known you’d bought a box of condoms by the time the sun set.”

“Ha, ahahaha, haha, yeah, uh,” Stiles scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “That’s probably an understatement, sir.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Fisher acquiesced and rang up Stiles’ total. He narrowed dark, sharp eyes at Stiles’ hand when Stiles held out his money, his nostrils flaring out.

Stiles frowned at Mr. Fisher, then at his hand, in confusion. The pharmacist shook his head and took the bills, giving Stiles his change back. “Thanks,” Stiles said hesitantly.

“Have a good day, Stiles,” Mr. Fisher replied absently, then seemed to snap out of it. “You’ve got dried syrup on your hand, son. Might wanna wash your hands more often.”

“Ah, right,” Stiles flushed and rubbed his hand on his jeans. “Thanks. Have a good day!” He managed, and escaped to the parking lot as quickly as he could. A quick check of his phone reassured Stiles that there was plenty of time to make it to Derek’s house, and he pulled his keys from his pocket.

There was chirping from above him, and Stiles looked up to see the chickadee perched on the lamppost he’d parked under. Whatever it had been clutching in its beak was now clutched in one of the bird’s feet, and Stiles frowned up at it for a moment before shrugging and climbing into the jeep. Stiles kind of wanted to draw the bird. More than kind of. He frowned at his hand clutching at the steering wheel, trembling a little.

Stiles took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, took another breath, and contorted himself until he could look up through his windshield. The chickadee was still perched above him, head cocked like it’d seen something interesting, and Stiles grabbed up his phone. He was shit at drawing from memory, and he didn’t have anything with him to draw right there, so drawing from a picture off of his phone was the next best thing.

After getting a picture he was satisfied with, Stiles pulled out of Walgreens and pointed the jeep in the direction of the preserve. If he didn’t hit heavy traffic in downtown, he’d have more than enough time to start the drawing and suddenly it was the most important thing he could be doing. Stiles drove, mind lost in a weird haze, and soon enough Stiles was pulling off the highway and onto the dirt road that led to Derek’s.

Derek’s car was gone, of course, and the only person there was Boyd, seated on the front porch with an annoyed look and a music book. He quirked an eyebrow when Stiles parked, looking even more unimpressed when Stiles hopped out of the jeep and went around to the back of the house.

“He doesn’t lock the kitchen door, because he’s fucking weird,” Stiles called back to Boyd.

“You said it,” Boyd responded blithely, rounding the corner a few steps behind Stiles. “What’s up, Stilinski? You seem out of it.”

Stiles made a dismissive noise and the moment they entered the house he headed straight for a spare sketchbook tucked away in the corner of the living room. “Just...something I gotta draw. Or at least start. Probably finish. I don’t know that I’ll be able to focus on anything else if I don’t.”

Boyd furrowed his brow, dropping his music book down on the kitchen table. “Should I be worried?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Stiles said absently. “I think it’s a ...thing, you know? A Thing thing.”

“Oh,” Boyd exhaled softly, and sat across from Stiles. “Okay then.” He pulled his music book over to him and opened it up, quietly studying whatever piece he was opened to while Stiles drew.

After a while, Boyd straightened up in his seat and watched Stiles stare narrow-eyed at the sketchbook. “So, this Thing, your mom was the same way, too, wasn’t she?”

Stiles hummed, frowned at his drawing, and scratched his chin thoughtfully, leaving a smudge of graphite. “Yeah, from what I can remember and from what my dad’s said. I don’t know if this is exactly the same, though. A lot of time her compulsive drawings were always precognitive in nature.”

“What do you think yours are, then?”

“I don’t know. Different things. Clues, maybe. Or distant future stuff.” Stiles replied absently, shifting his attention to his phone to study the picture he’d taken. “Oh, it’s a ring.”

Boyd raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. “What’s a ring?”

“When I first noticed the bird, it was holding something shiny. It’s a ring.”

“Weird,” Boyd muttered, and sat back again. “I’m kind of curious. Do you think this...Thing is because of your mom’s side of the family?”

“You mean because of the Cherokee blood? Maybe. I was reading through one of my mother’s journals, and one of the entries said she’d traced this Thing back several generations on her dad’s side.”

“Hmm,” Boyd went quiet, and Stiles focused on his sketchbook again. After another few minutes, the werewolf huffed softly. “There was this kid in my fourth grade class. She was half Navajo, only here for a year while her parents duked it out over custody, I guess. We had show and tell one day, and she brought in the necklace her mother had made her, told us about how her mom spent hours stringing the beads together with other Navajo women, how they sold most of what they made to white tourists. This other kid interrupted her, going on about how he was 1/16 Choctaw on his dad’s side. I remember wondering why he was so damn proud of that when I knew he’d never mentioned it before. And he was whiter than you.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and Boyd just shrugged. “Sounds like that kid’s an asshole.

“Yeah, and he’s not the first or last person to claim 1/16 or whatever fraction Native American. My gram liked to teach me what she calls ‘Real World History and Why the Whites Won’t Teach It’, so I always know the likely source of that fraction. And you surprised me, when you mentioned your mom was half Cherokee. I was more surprised you made no claim to that heritage, because I’d learned to expect it.”

“Tsk,” Stiles huffed and scratched his chin again, smearing even more graphite across it. “Why would I? I was never raised with my grandfather’s tribe the way my mom was. She chose to raise me like a white American, chose to raise me in San Diego, then Beacon Hills. She told me stories, like the ones her father told her, yeah, but they didn’t have the same meaning to me as they did to her.”

“Yeah,” Boyd said and frowned thoughtfully at Stiles.

Stiles made a face and waved his hand at Boyd. “So, you wouldn’t happen to know what song Erica and Jackson picked out for this ridiculous meme thing, would you? I was never actually told. Erica just said my ass had to be here at three.”

Boyd smiled and flipped his music book around so that Stiles could read the title. “I guess she’s still deciding if it’s you or her who sings, because there’s a male and female version? I only ever remember hearing The Supremes singing this. My gram loves them.”  
  
“She picked…” Stiles trailed off, his eyes burning and a sharp shard of longing slicing through him. “Absolutely not.” There was no way he was singing that song, there was no way he was going to play the drums for that song.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it!”

“Nothing’s wrong with what?” Erica asked, sauntering into the kitchen with Jackson and Lydia.

“Stiles doesn’t want to do this song,” Boyd said with a shrug as he stood up to greet her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Why not? Do you not like the song?” Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“No.” Stiles scowled, and slammed his sketchbook shut. He knew his reaction was childish and uncalled for, but he didn’t  particularly care.

“What the hell, Stiles?” Erica demanded.

“Count me out of this cover, unless you guys decide to do a different song.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles, who’s going to play the drums for it? You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to,” Lydia said cooly.

“Look, I said I wanted no part in _this song_ , so if you want to do this song you’ll have to make do without me.” Stiles snapped, and stormed out the back door with his phone and sketchbook. Jackson called after him, but Stiles ignored the werewolf in favor of angrily marching into the woods, following the trail Derek had shown him over the summer.

By the time he’d reached the tree house - they’d spent several hours in it, Derek telling Stiles all about Sky using a Swiss Army knife to carve their and Laura’s and Derek’s name into the part of the tree the house was wrapped around, his soft fingers stroking over the carvings - the dull ache in his chest had turned into a thick, suffocating blanket of grief and longing. And guilt, because none of his friends deserved the way he’d reacted.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been hiding out in the tree house. He was certain at least one of the wolves was circling it, because it was an incredibly stupid thing to do, storming out of the house and into the woods when there was an unknown enemy running around. It had to have been quite a while, though, because Derek was climbing up to join him, looking kind of disgruntled and a lot concerned.

“Erica ambushed me when I got home, declaring you to be a drama queen and that Boyd was ‘babysitting his idiot ass while he threw a temper tantrum in the woods’. I see no signs of a temper tantrum, and Boyd informed me that you haven’t said or done anything the entire time you’ve been up here. He’s pretty certain you haven’t even moved. So, would you please tell me what’s going on?”

The alpha sat down across from him, their knees touching. Stiles scowled down at his phone, stroking his thumb absently over the black screen while he thought about what to say. Derek waited him out, exuding a calm and patience that still seemed really out of character sometimes.

“They had this bright idea to start doing covers of old songs as some part of a throwback Thursday thing, I guess. I don’t know, Erica mentioned it once when she was going over comments people left on our other videos. I told them in no way would I take part in playing for or singing the song they picked out.”

“Do you not like it or something?"

Stiles gave a frustrated growl and scrubbed his hands over his face. “NO, it…no. I like the song, a lot, okay. And, if it was any other song, I’d sing it regardless. C’mon, man, they talked me into singing ‘ _California Gurls_ ’!”

Derek reached out, wrapping his fingers around Stiles’ own gently, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Stiles’ shoulders slumped and he let himself fall forward until he was sprawled awkwardly across his mate’s lap, hiding his face against Derek’s stomach. Derek stroked Stiles’ back soothingly, the fingers of his free hand sinking into Stiles’ hair to scritch at his scalp.

Eventually, Stiles muttered into Derek’s shirt; "It…it’s mine and my mom’s song, okay? I just, I just _can’t_. I cannot and will not sing it or sing along with it or any variation of singing and that song thereof, with anyone who is not my mother. It’d be like…the idea of it feels like washing over memories of standing on the kitchen table and belting along with the song while my mother laughed and danced and sang along with me. And playing the drums is also out of the question. It’s [_our_ song](http://howdoilivefanficblog.tumblr.com/post/106729171772/its-our-song-mine-and-hers), mine and her’s."

"Hmm," Derek hummed knowingly, and gently tugged Stiles until he was curled into Derek’s embrace, seated fully on Derek’s lap. Stiles hid his face in Derek’s neck, and the werewolf squeezed Stiles tighter to him. They stayed like that for a bit, before Derek started speaking. "Why don’t you explain that to them?"

"I…it’s personal, and I know they’re pack, they’re my friends, but this is something Scott doesn’t even know. It was just for me and mom, and I feel weird telling you about it. I just, want to keep it to myself, well, between us now, but you get what I’m saying," Stiles mumbled, and tucked his nose behind the shell of Derek’s ear.

“I understand,” Derek mumbled, and squeezed Stiles tightly for a few more seconds before nudging him back enough that they could lock gazes. “I won’t say a word, but maybe think about telling them. They’ll understand, even if they don’t quite understand what it’s like to lose a parent.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Stiles sighed, and squirmed around in an effort to find a more comfortable position to sit. He accidentally kicked his sketchbook across the small space left, and Derek made a curious sound in his throat.

“Drawing?”

“Before I left the house, yeah. Just...had this burning desire to draw a dumb bird I saw at Walgreens.” He unlocked his phone and showed Derek the picture. “This bird, specifically. I guess that’s another reason I reacted so badly. I was thinking about my mom before Boyd showed me what song we were supposed to start practicing. I mean, if I was a good little drummer boy I would’ve spent time practicing the song on my own, which means we could’ve avoided this whole fiasco from the start, but I’ve been more focused on my lessons with Deaton and Argent.”

“The bird made you think about your mom, or the need to draw it?”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Both? The need to draw it, and also how it even caught my attention in the first place. I don’t think I would’ve noticed it if the ring it’d been holding in its beak hadn’t caught the sunlight. It reminded me of the way my mom would get my attention when we were at the park or I was playing outside, so she wouldn’t have to shout. I responded better to shiny distractions than people shouting at me, apparently. She’d get the sunlight to reflect off of the glass and silver of her watch and wait for me to go looking for the source of the sudden shine. It was actually pretty effective, from what I remember.”

Derek made an amused sound. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Shut up, you butthead,” Stiles grumbled, smacked Derek’s shoulder gently, and leaned forward to kiss him chastely. “I bet _someone_ in your family used dog whistles on you guys.”

“Sky would do it when they were pissed at Laura. I have no idea when, where, or why Sky bought a dog whistle, but mom was pissed, Peter was begrudgingly impressed, and my dad was flat out amused by everything.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles laughed, hugging Derek around the neck. “That’s hilarious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter include:  
>  _Nine in the Afternoon_ by Panic! at the Disco ~~(edited because I realized I am trash and fucked up...I can't believe I fucked up. Maybe I'm lucky and nobody saw it.)~~  
>  _You Can't Hurry Love_ by The Supremes  
>  _California Gurls_ by Katy Perry


	11. something my soul needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd leaned against the threshold to the living room and nodded in greeting. Derek nodded back and stood up. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”  
> “Cool. You talking to Stiles?”  
> “ _Hey Boyd!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from Keaton Henson's 'Flesh and Bones']  
> So, a little over a month later, and here we are. I'm sorry it took so long, but now I have to tell you that....well, I mentioned a chapter or two ago that I couldn't guarantee regular updates and I'm unfortunately here to tell you that because of work I'm worried I might be stuck with these once a month updates, which I hate. They're mandating overtime so I get to re-arrange my already terrible sleep-schedule (really I get to figure out how to fit decompression-time, writing-time, sleep, work, food, hygiene-stuffs, exercise, and a social life into this new configuration of my life yaaay -_-). Sorry, I'm not trying to whine to you guys or anything, I swear, I just wanted to give you all some warning. ~~_Does anyone ever read the chapter notes though, honestly?_~~ But I digress, I'm going to try my hardest to carve out time to focus on this fic. Honestly I've got a lot of the remaining chapters plotted/half-written out, it's just proven difficult for me to sit down and type it all out, plus I'm terrible and the chunk of stuff I've gotten written is actually for later chapters. ~~this is why you shouldn't write stuff out of order Dae, you know how you get~~
> 
> I edited the tags a bit, to reflect a couple things. There are more tag edits to come, so probably be aware of that. These ones are pretty much inconsequential, I think, but the things to come aren't so light. (In all honesty I'll give you warning in the chapter notes, when we get there, I promise).

Derek woke up with a groan, stretching until he felt his back crack. Isaac was in the kitchen, from what Derek could hear, and Jackson was in the living room watching the morning news. He frowned, trying to fit those two facts together. After a few minutes, Derek decided that there wasn’t much he could do to make that make sense, so he rolled onto his side and squinted at the window.

“ _Did you and Erica find another song to do?_ ”

“ _Yeah. I still don’t see why Stiles threw such a fit about the one._ ”

Derek sighed and sat up, scratching a hand through his hair. “Give Stiles time, he’ll tell you if and when he’s ready.”

“ _Morning Derek!_ ” Isaac shouted.

“Yeah,” Derek muttered, and glanced at the alarm clock. “Morning.” He pushed himself out of bed and dug his toes into the carpet. He still felt exhausted, and decided a shower was the best thing for him, shedding his clothes as he shuffled towards his en suite.

He and Stiles had spent another couple hours up in the tree house, and when they’d finally gone back to the house, Stiles and Erica got into an argument that only ended when Boyd suggested they cool off some more.

With everything that had gone on, Derek hadn’t had much time to decompress fully from his therapy session. Hadn’t had much time to think about the advice his therapist had given him. Instead he’d fallen asleep on the couch with Stiles in the middle of _The Two Towers_. Stiles woke him up around midnight and ushered him off to bed with a reluctant kiss before going home, because he still had a curfew to keep.

Derek turned the water on its hottest setting and stepped underneath the spray. Jackson and Isaac were murmuring, soft mumbling words indistinguishable beneath the rush of the shower, and Derek remembered sleepy Sunday mornings where all he heard was the sound of dishes rattling and his parents’ hushed conversations muffled by the morning routine of the rest of the pack. It made something warm and sharp slice through him, bittersweet.

Sleepy concern wrapped around him, and Derek smiled, closing his eyes and turning his face into the spray. He let his affection for Stiles bleed through until that’s all Stiles could possibly be getting through their bond, and washed his hair. Stiles responded with his own exasperated affection.

“Derek,” Jackson called, distracting him.

“Jackson,” Derek said, then promptly spat shampoo out of his mouth.

Jackson snorted. “Isaac and I are going for a run. Bonding, and stuff.”

Derek rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and stuck his head around the shower curtain to find Jackson standing just outside his bathroom. “Not that I’m complaining, but who put you up to this?”

“No one!” Jackson growled, scowling at Derek from the doorway. Derek raised his eyebrows, and Jackson sighed heavily. “Fine, fine, Stiles suggested it. Danny’s my best friend, and I don’t want to make things difficult for him because I’m an ass to Isaac. It’s been...slow going. And, he’s pack. It’s dumb to not try and bond with him, even just a little bit.”

“What about Scott?”

“Scott can go fuck himself,” Jackson said matter-of-factly.

“Scott’s pack, and he’s important to Stiles,” Derek pointed out, even though he agreed with Jackson.

The beta snorted and gave Derek a disgusted look. “Scott doesn’t deserve Stiles. And until he holds himself accountable for the shit he’s done, and actually apologizes and means it, he can fuck right off.”

Derek made a noise of agreement and retreated back behind the shower curtain. “Stick together on your run, and don’t leave our territory.”

“Yes _mom_ ,” Jackson groaned, and disappeared.

After several minutes of quiet, and Derek had rinsed the soap from his body, he leaned his arm against the shower wall, hiding his face in the bend of his elbow. The water was starting to cool, but it wasn’t too cold he had to get out. He let his mind wander, thinking about the curve of Stiles’ neck and the broadness of his shoulders, the way his hands fit on Stiles’ hips and the way Stiles’ mouth looked so red and swollen after blowing Derek.

Derek groaned long and low, wrapped his free hand around his dick, and started stroking himself slowly. He pictured Stiles sitting in the window seat, in nothing but one of Derek’s shirts hanging a little too big on his lithe frame. Remembered the way the sunset reflected in Stiles’ eyes that night in Redwood, how prettily Stiles had flushed when he’d noticed Derek’s stare. He moaned, imagined himself laid bare on his bed as Stiles watched from the window seat, the rapid beat of his heart the only indication that Stiles was as affected as Derek.

He sped up his strokes, thought about the way Stiles’ eyes would darken as he watched Derek push two fingers into himself. Derek wanted to, and he might have, but not in the shower. (Fingering himself was an activity he saved for when he wanted to take his time, and Derek hadn’t felt relaxed enough to do that since New York.) So he tightened his hand on himself, imagined how Stiles might react to the sight of Derek writhing on his bed with two fingers in his ass and a hand on his cock, and came with a low groan.

Slumping against the shower wall, he let the water wash away the mess. The spray was mostly cold, by then, and he could hear Boyd jogging up the drive to the house. Derek shook himself, shut the water off, and stepped out of the shower feeling a little more relaxed than he had in several weeks. It was nice.

Derek’s phone rang as he was getting dressed, Stiles’ ringtone, and he smiled a little, yanking up his jeans. He grabbed it off the dresser and answered it just before it could go to voicemail, and Stiles screeched at him. Derek nearly dropped his phone in shock.

“What the hell, Stiles?”

“ _Did you just get done masturbating?_ ”

“...is that suddenly illegal? Because I think we need to have a conversation about - ”

“ _I could feel your orgasm! Which, honestly, any other time probably wouldn’t be half bad, but I was in the dining room with Peter!_ ”

Derek swallowed down a laugh and raised his brows at the wall. “That’s new.”

“ _Haha, yeah, no kidding_ ,” Stiles grumbled,

“Did you not try to block my emotions? I thought Deaton had you working on that,” Derek continued, rifling through his dresser for a shirt. “I’m sorry we discovered this while you weren’t alone.”

Stiles huffed. “ _Dude, it’s not like either of us thought it was gonna happen. I mean maybe we should’ve figured. Emotions, why not physical sensations? At least it wasn’t like you were shot or something. Like, dude, I don’t wanna ever know what that feels like. Please don’t get shot._ ”

“I don’t go out of my way to get shot, Stiles,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. He pulled his shirt on, fumbling his cell from one hand to the other. “But there was never any reason to believe we would be able to feel each other’s physical sensations.”

“ _It’s not like we can really ask Deaton, either. He knows jackall about this. He’ll probably just scold me for not having mastered blocking incoming data from you yet._ ” Stiles sighed, and there was the ruffling of fabric like he’d laid back. “ _But...I guess this is something we’re going to have to test, right?_ ”

Derek hummed in agreement. “I’m going to stop by the clinic today for something, I’ll ask Deaton while I’m there.”

“ _Awesome. Wait, why are you going to the clinic?_ ”

“Therapy thing,” Derek mumbled. “My therapist thinks I might benefit from getting a dog who I can train to guard and protect the house.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles said, paused, and sighed to himself. “T _hat’s good? Getting a dog, anyway? I realize this is probably because of the fire, and how your family was….trapped. A dog could be trained to get one of us humans._ ”

“Mmhmm,” Derek went back into the bathroom to throw on some deodorant. “I think she’s right, though. I think I would feel better having a dog here. While one wouldn’t be able to take down another werewolf, it would give, say, you or Lydia or Danny a fighting chance to get to safety, if one of the wolves weren’t there or were incapacitated for whatever reason.”

“ _Yo, Derek, where’re Isaac and Jackson?_ ” Boyd asked from the living room.

“Out for a bonding run, according to Jackson. I don’t know when they’ll be back.” Derek answered.

“ _Okay? What?_ ”

“I was answering Boyd’s question. He was looking for Isaac and Jackson.”

“ _Oooh. Oh! Jackson’s taking my advice?_ ”

Derek smiled and headed back into his bedroom, grabbing a pair of socks before heading towards the hallway and down the stairs. “It would seem so.”

“ _Aww, you’re proud of him! I can feel it!_ ”

“Yeah, shut up,” Derek said fondly as he sat down on the steps and pulled his sneakers towards him. “What’s your plan for the day?”

“ _Homework, more research about the mystery creature. We’ve got it narrowed down some more. Then I have training with Argent for a couple hours before I have more lessons with Deaton this afternoon._ ” Stiles listed off. He felt a little tired through the bond, and he sounded it.

“Busy,” Derek murmured, flexed his toes in his sneakers, and wrinkled his nose at them. “Hey, don’t push yourself too hard. You sound tired, and you feel tired.”

Stiles made a fond noise and hummed. “ _Yeah. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Had a weird dream. I don’t really remember it, just...there was a wolf? And I was a wolf? I don’t know. It was weird. I ended up getting up at like five and found Peter in the dining room drawing and grumbling. It turned into an impromptu art lesson._ ”

“So you took him up on his offer? I remember hiding out under the dining room table with a book when I was a kid, listening to Peter teach Sky art stuff.”

Boyd leaned against the threshold to the living room and nodded in greeting. Derek nodded back and stood up. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Cool. You talking to Stiles?”

“ _Hey Boyd!_ ”

“Answers my question,” Boyd said with an eyeroll. “I forgot to text him last night, but let him know I talked Erica into doing a different song. I’ll bring him over the sheet music, and she says he has to sing this one, seeing as she conceded to his demands.”

Derek snorted and relayed the message to Stiles.

“ _Ugh, fine, fine. I hope it’s not going to be humiliating._ ”

“It’s not like they uploaded the recording they made of you singing _California Gurls_ to Youtube.”

Boyd laughed and shook his head, and Stiles made an outraged noise. “ _I guess there isn’t much to be worried about, then,_ ” he said sarcastically. “ _Actually I’m probably lucky Erica hasn’t used it as blackmail material. Oh god, never let her form that idea!_ ”

“I can’t control Erica’s thoughts,” Derek pointed out, and grabbed his keys off the hook by the door. “I have to go run some errands, don’t let Isaac and Jackson destroy the house.”

“I have no control over those two,” Boyd said, but shrugged and headed towards the kitchen.

“I’m gonna let you go, now. Go do some homework, take a nap before all that training.”

“ _Yes_ , dad,” Stiles sighed. “ _I’ll see you later, hopefully._ ”

“You can always come crash here, I'm sure Caleb'll give you permission if you ask. I’ll make sure you get to school in the morning.” Derek headed out the front door and down the porch steps. “Caleb and I already had that talk. It was a little terrifying.”

“ _Oh my god, I’m hanging up on you!_ ”

“Bye, Stiles.”

There was a flash of fondness through the bond. Derek got the impression Stiles was smiling. “ _Bye, Derek._ ”

Derek smiled and hung up, ignored Boyd’s amused snort, and got in his car. The drive to Deaton’s was quick and familiar, and Derek wasn’t sure how to feel about that. His pack had been there so often, wounded or dying. It wasn’t the quiet he’d longed for, or the peace he’d hoped for. But he had a pack, again, and he was damned if he was going to lose them.

Deaton was in the back, the gate shut, keeping Derek to the front of the clinic. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and called out Deaton’s name. The veterinarian appeared a few moments later, wiping his hands off on a rag. The scent of mountain ash and sage burned Derek’s nose.

“Derek, I wasn’t expecting a visit today.”

“You expect visits from me on other days?” Derek asked skeptically.

The vet smiled and shook his head. “No, not really. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My therapist suggested I adopt a puppy, train it to be a guard dog. I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”

Deaton smiled. “Of course,” he turned to the front desk and picked up a flyer. “One of my patients had puppies a few months back, and her owner is trying to sell them. They're Armenian Gamprs, good - "

"Armenian what?" Derek interrupted, giving Deaton a look.

"Armenian Gamprs," Deaton replied patiently, and held up the flyer. There was a massive, furry grey and black dog laying next to seven of the most adorable puppies Derek had ever seen. He blinked, shocked at the sheer size of her, and glanced up to meet Deaton's knowing gaze.

"They're a guard breed, naturally so. I think one of Bear's puppies will give you what you're seeking," Deaton said, and handed the flyer over to Derek. "The contact information is at the bottom. Last I knew, she still had four puppies. I can vouch for their health, and the health of their parents."

Derek read the flyer over. "Heather Rhodes? The art teacher at the high school, right?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Sky was fond of her, if I remember. Said she gave off a good vibe, whatever the hell that meant." Derek looked up. "Thanks, Deaton. I'll give Ms. Rhodes a call."

Deaton nodded and turned to go back behind the counter. Derek cleared his throat, suddenly a little nervous, and the veterinarian turned back with a quirked brow. "Was there something else?"

"Yes, actually. Stiles called me this morning to inform me that he could, ah, feel what I was feeling. Physically."

"Oh?" Deaton frowned thoughtfully. "The bond must be growing stronger."

"Obviously."

"I'm glad you said something," Deaton continued as if he hadn't heard Derek. "It reminded me, I would like for you to block out Stiles' emotions entirely but leave your own unblocked. I'll talk to him about this, of course, but I realize I made a mistake in asking him to learn how to keep from feeling your emotions and also keep you from feeling his. I started instructing him like he was a werewolf, who knew how to control emotional bleeds through pack bonds, instead of as the human he is. It should be much easier for him to focus on doing one at a time. Eventually he'll learn to do both simultaneously, and also how to partially block."

Derek swallowed down the comments he wanted to make in favor of nodding his head. "As long as Stiles is on board with this, I will."

"Of course," Deaton agreed. "I wouldn't expect you to do something like this without Stiles' say so."

"Right," Derek said warily. "I'm glad we've got that clear. If you'll excuse me."

"Have a good day, Derek."

"Yeah," Derek muttered, and backed out of the clinic. "You too."

He got into his car and pulled his phone out, punching in the phone number on the flyer. It rang twice before a tired voice answered. " _Hello? May I ask who's calling?_ "

"Ms. Rhodes? This is Derek Hale. I'm calling about the puppies you have for sale."

" _Oh! Yes, of course! How can I help you?_ "

"I was wondering if there was a good time I could come look at the puppies? Deaton gave me your flyer."

" _No problem! If you're not busy, now would be a great time. Otherwise it'd have to wait until next weekend. I'm busy at the school all week, and when I get home all I want to do is veg out on the couch._ "

Derek chuckled a little. "Now's perfect, actually. Just, how much are you asking for?"

" _You're Sky's little brother, Derek. It may be out of line, or something, probably very strange, but Sky was...a friend. And because of that, I'm only going to ask for a couple hundred_."

“Thanks,” Derek mumbled.

“ _Right, yeah. Um, my address should be on the flyer. Just come to the inner door and knock. Don’t be concerned if Bear barks, she’ll be locked in my bedroom._ ”

“Okay,” Derek said absently, pulling out onto the road. “Do you want the payment in full now?”

“ _No, you can give me half today, and the other half whenever you get the time._ ”

Derek made a sound of agreement, and they hung up. The werewolf stopped at a red light and squinted at the flyer, trying to remember exactly where Beech Street was. It’d been so long since Derek had gone running around Beacon Hills, despite having been back for so long and being chased around downtown and the warehouse district by hunters and other various monsters. He was pretty sure Beech was in the nicer part of the town, opposite his own house and the Stilinskis, probably near Lydia or Jackson’s houses. Derek turned in that direction, and luckily found Rhodes’ house quickly, right around the corner from Jackson and, Derek suspected, right across the street from Danny.

At some point, Derek decided, he was going to have to figure that out. Danny was part of the pack, even if he was closer to the fringes, tied to them by Isaac, Jackson, and Lydia. He knew where everyone else lived, made rounds through their neighborhoods on his nightly patrol of the city, and he had to keep Danny safe too.

The sound of puppies yapping excitedly pulled Derek from his thoughts, and he shook his head a couple times to clear it before getting out of the car. Ms. Rhodes answered the door, when Derek knocked, much quicker than he’d anticipated, a pack of fluffy balls chasing after her. She smiled, flustered, and ushered Derek in.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, herding the puppies back. “I debated penning them in the kitchen but then decided against it.”

“It’s okay,” Derek shrugged and crouched down to get a better look at the puppies.

Ms. Rhodes smiled and crouched down beside him, “This breed is a lot of work, you know. They’re not your average Golden Retriever or a Dalmatian. They need room, a big yard and a lot of training. You sure you’re cut out for an Armenian Gampr?”

Derek huffed and held his hand out to one of the puppies, who sniffed his fingers and wagged its tail happily. “I live in the middle of the preserve, I think my yard’ll be big enough. And when Deaton showed me the flyer, I kind of figured they’d require a lot of training. Large dogs often do. But my uncle is good with dogs, and I’m betting there are classes I can take.”

“And I’m more than willing to help, if you need it,” Ms. Rhodes offered, reaching out to pet a different puppy. Her expression turned serious, and she leveled Derek with a look. “Look, I’m not trying to talk you out of this, Derek. It’s just that these dogs are a lot more work than people expect, they’re not really for newbie owners, and they… Their guard instinct is a huge part of the breed’s makeup, it’s not something that you’ll ever be able to train out of them.”

“That’s good,” Derek said matter-of-factly. “Deaton gave me your flyer because I asked for his help finding a guard dog. I...this is something I’m doing because somebody came into my home, onto my property, and lit my house on fire, killing nearly all of my family.”

Ms. Rhodes swallowed thickly, nodding her head. “You have your pick of the litter.”

Derek sat down fully, watching the puppies as they ambled around him. There was a brown male laying directly across from Derek, head on his paws as he stared at the alpha. Derek stared back, and the puppy started wagging his tail, shifting to sit on his haunches. The other puppies lost interest quickly, and made their way over to a shut door where Derek assumed their mother was. The puppy that’d been staring him down trotted over to him, snuffling curiously at Derek’s feet and jeans.

“I think he likes you,” Ms. Rhodes murmured.

“Seems so,” Derek hummed, held his hand out to the puppy only to have it licked enthusiastically. “I like him, too.”

Ms. Rhodes beamed. “He’s your choice?”

“Yeah,” Derek confirmed, reaching both hands out to stroke along the puppy’s fur. “He’s the one.”

“Good, good,” Ms. Rhodes patted the puppy’s head gently. “Let me go grab his papers and leash, he’s all set to go home today.”

Derek smiled softly, and flashed his eyes once she’d left the room. The puppy nudged Derek’s hands before leaning up to lick at Derek’s face. Derek curled his fingers into the puppy’s ruff and scritched him behind the ears.

“I think I’ll let Stiles name you,” he told the puppy, and then pulled his phone out to send Stiles a similar text.

Ms. Rhodes reappeared with a thin folder and a cloth leash, kneeling down to fasten it to the collar Derek hadn’t noticed. “So, half now and half whenever you get the chance to bring it by. If you want to drop it off during the week, it’d be better to just go to the school to do so. I’m in the art room until seven or eight most evenings.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Derek said, and pulled his wallet out.

“So do you have a name for him?”

Derek shook his head and handed Ms. Rhodes the money. “No, I told my boyfriend to pick out some names. I’m kind of terrible at it. I had a pet turtle when I was nine. I named him Turtle.”

“Oh jeez,” Ms. Rhodes laughed. “Please, I named my dog Bear.”

“That makes sense, if she’s as big in that picture as she looks.” Derek reassured her, standing up straight and taking the leash Ms. Rhodes handed over along with the thing folder.

“She is,” Ms. Rhodes laughed, and followed Derek to the front door. “I’m honestly surprised she didn’t carry on when you got here. Normally Bear goes nuts when she hears someone come to the door, especially if I have to lock her in my room.”

“Strange,” Derek agreed, and smiled hesitantly at Ms. Rhodes before turning and leading his new puppy to the camaro. He opened the passenger door and nudged the puppy gently until he got the hint and scrambled up into the seat.

“Oh! Are you going to need puppy food for him? I meant to ask inside,” Ms. Rhodes called out as Derek was walking around to get in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, actually,” Derek said, frowning. He was going to need to stop at the pet store before going home, he realized.

“Alright, I’ll go get you some, okay? To start you off with. I’ll write the name of the brand on the bag so you know what kind it is.”

“Thanks,” Derek said, and watched her disappear inside her house. He turned to watch the puppy through the windshield as he sniffed the interior, climbing over  the center console and into the back seat, tail wagging happily.

Derek’s cellphone went off, Erikson’s _I Walked With a Zombie_ screeching out at him, Peter’s ringtone because Stiles had no self-control and thought he was funny. Derek jumped, nearly dropping his phone as he swiped to answer. Ms. Rhodes reappeared with a bag as Peter hissed Derek’s name.

“Yes, Peter?” Derek sighed, and smiled gratefully at Ms. Rhodes. She blinked at Derek’s phone, looking a little shocked, before shaking her head a bit and handing Derek the bag. “Thanks,” he mouthed at her, and turned back to his car, opening the driver’s door one-handed, propping his phone on his shoulder. He dropped the bag in the footwell of the passenger side and slid into his own seat, starting the car. “Peter?”

“ _Caleb caught a scent out on his patrol,_ ” Peter whispered. “ _We’ve got some omegas in the territory, Caleb said their scent was pretty set in the warehouse he was searching, like they’d been squatting there for a while._ ”

Derek bit back a growl, gripping the steering wheel tightly with his free hand. “How have none of us come across their scent until now?”

“ _Because we’ve all foolishly neglected the warehouse district since we rescued Stiles from those hunters,_ ” Peter said blandly. “ _Come get the scent when you’ve got time, I’ll be here all afternoon searching the surrounding warehouses. My car will be parked in front of the one they’ve been holed up in._ ”

“Alright, I have to take care of a few things and drop something off at home but I’ll meet you there in a few hours.” Derek said, and hung up when Peter hummed in acknowledgement. His phone buzzed as he went to put it in one of the cup holders, and he looked at the roof of the car in exasperation before checking it, smiling a moment later when he realized it was just a text from Stiles.

_**From Stiles:** DROGO DUDE DROGO I FUCKING GOOGLED ARMENIAN GAMPRS HE HAS TO BE NAMED DROGO!!!_  
 _ **To Stiles:** ok ok relax he’s Drogo_  
 _ **From Stiles:** :D_

Derek tucked his phone away and turned to look at the puppy now calmly sitting in the passenger seat. “Alright, Drogo it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music referenced in this chapter:  
>  _California Gurls_ by Katy Perry  
>  _I Walked With A Zombie_ by Roky Erickson
> 
> A couple things, I think. 1) Probably prepare more for getting a dog than what Derek did. Maybe not impulse shop for puppies, they're a lot of work, not your average stuffed dog. And if you're ever considering buying a puppy/dog, I suggest doing some research to make sure you pick a breed that's right for you/your family/your home. (Derek didn't _quite_ impulse puppy shop. It's never explicitly stated but he'd been discussing getting a guard dog with his therapist for longer than he makes it seem. He just kind of skipped a few of the preparing steps, like buying proper puppy stuff like food and a bed and toys....AND he should've done some research too, especially for the breed of dog he's introduced to here.) Also I couldn't find a solid price on the particular breed Derek bought, which is why I went with the cop-out I did. 2) You can click [ this right here](http://www.noveltyfarm.com/Armenian-Gampr.html) to check out a farmer's pack of Armenian Gamprs, to get a feel of just how potentially large Drogo can become. Also, cute puppies!


	12. interlude: where did you go? (i had to stay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm not saying I don't trust you, I just...need to be careful."_   
>  _"I know," Heather sighed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [interlude title taken from Red's 'Hymn for the Missing']  
> AhahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHA  
> So, uh. Hi there? *waves sheepishly* I'm so, so sorry for the totally, completely unexpected and unannounced hiatus, everyone. This was not supposed to happen, at all. I made a post about it a few weeks ago [here](http://howdoilivefanficblog.tumblr.com/post/126817720937/deleted-sceneschapter-author-update) talking about/explaining it, so. There's that.
> 
> That being said, I'm not sure when the next chapter's going to be posted. I'm still struggling, so every word, every paragraph, is like a hard won victory. I'm hoping it'll get a little easier the more I fight but I just can't promise frequent/regular updates, and I'm really, _really_ sorry about that T-T

_interlude: where did you go? (i had to stay)_

* * *

 Heather leaned back in her chair, the bright blue fingernails of one hand tapping anxiously at her desk while her other hand pressed her phone to her ear. “I understand, I really do. Seeing is believing, but it’s not just verbal confirmation from a third party anymore. I’ve seen them with my own two eyes.”

“ _I’m not saying I don’t trust you, I just...need to be careful._ ”

“I know,” Heather sighed, and scrubbed her free hand down her face before resuming the tapping.

“ _But if...that means the cub should be safe, right?_ ”

“Probably?”

“ _Find out._ ”

Heather made an incredulous sound. “How do you suggest I do _that_? I can’t just go up to him and -”  
  
“ _Heather, don’t play dumb with me._ ”

“Look, I want to help you, but you can’t expect me to break the rules here, Jay. My situation is precarious; I’m lucky they haven’t figured it out.” She sighed softly, tone gentling as she glanced at the clock. “Look, we’ll discuss this more in person, okay? I have an art club meeting in ten minutes that I actually need to prepare for.”

Jay let out an explosive breath, sending static down the phone line. “I _’m sorry, Heather. I know I shouldn’t be pushing you so hard. This isn’t your problem._ ”

Heather tsked. “Shut up, little Mockingjay. You know I’m more than willing to help you. I promised you I would. And yeah, you shouldn’t be so pushy - your alpha voice doesn’t do crap for me - but don’t for one second think you’re putting me out. You’re not.”

“ _Fuck, Heather, shut up before you make me cry or something. And I told you not to call me that! I’ve never even read those books you gigantic nerd._ ”

Heather chuckled and ran her fingers through her ponytail. “The day I make you cry is the day the world ends.”

“ _You’re a dick._ ”

“You’re supposed to respect your elders.”

There was a light knock on the door, startling Heather into remembering just where she was. Stiles popped his head in a moment later, face sheepish. “Ms. Rhodes, are you very busy? I had a question about - oh! Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize you were on the phone!”

“No, it’s okay Stiles, I was just finishing up. Jay, I’ll see you Saturday.” Heather hung up before Jay could respond, cringed internally because Jay was gonna be pissy about that, and turned to smile welcomingly at Stiles. “What was your question about?”

Stiles cleared his throat, and entered the room fully. There was a dollar store sketchbook clutched in his left hand, a little battered from frequent use. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me make a portfolio?”

Heather felt her face light up. “You’re interested in going to school for art?”

“Yeah, I uh...I have...I’m thinking about becoming a tattoo artist,” Stiles revealed, like he thought Heather wouldn’t approve of the idea.

“That’s awesome, Stiles,” Heather said brightly, while the tattoo on her shoulder burned, almost accusingly. Jay was definitely frustrated with her.

Stiles blinked, surprise written across his features. “Oh, um, thanks. Honestly I was kind of expecting skepticism. Ms. Morell was kind of skeptical and disdainful of my college plans, when I talked to her this morning.”

Heather didn’t say what she wanted to say about Morell, because anything she could say was both insulting and would reveal too much. “Well, she shouldn’t have reacted that way. It’s a guidance councilor’s - and educator’s - duty to be supportive of the students.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles shrugged. “I don’t need her approval or help.”

“It’s good you came to me about a portfolio before the semester’s end. You’ll have a little longer to work on it before you have to have it and your applications in. Do you have any schools in mind?”

“I’ve kinda always wanted to go to San Diego. It’s where my mom went, though she didn’t actually go there for art.”

“Alright,” Heather nodded and smiled. “Your strongest medium is graphite and ink pens, so a lot of that will make up a good majority of your portfolio. We can definitely use some of the projects you’ve done for class.”

“Like the tree and hawk painting?”

“Yessir. That and the charcoal faerie, for certain.”

“Alright, cool,” Stiles said, and opened up his sketchbook. “I was thinking maybe some of these as well - ”

A knock interrupted whatever else Stiles was going to say, and Heather turned to watch Derek Hale walk into her classroom. It was still unnerving to her, how much he looked like his mother, same eyes and mouth, the same set to his brow. How all the Hales seemed to look near-identical, barring Peter, still as startling then as it was a couple weeks previous when he'd come to her house to look at puppies.

"Derek!?" Stiles squawked, clearly surprised to see Derek there.

"Sorry to interrupt, Ms. Rhodes, but you said to bring the other half of the payment to you whenever I could," Derek said, holding up an envelope.

Stiles flapped his hands, looking suddenly excited. "Oh! You didn't say you got Drogo from Ms. Rhodes!"

Heather blinked, and took the envelope from Derek with a thank you. "You named him Drogo?"

"Stiles did," Derek said, giving the teenager a fond look.

"He's gonna grow up to be a beast, and Khal Drogo is also a beast, I thought it was fitting," Stiles said defensively, though the smile in his eyes gave him away.

"Drogo sounds like a good, strong name," Heather reassured, deciding she was unsurprised to discover Derek's aforementioned boyfriend was in fact Stiles. If she focused hard enough, she could just make out the glow of...something connecting the two men. Heather took a mental note of it, tuning back into the conversation that'd carried on without her.

"So you’re thinking about art school more seriously?" Derek was saying, a proud gleam to his eye.

"Yeah," Stiles mumbled sheepishly, ducking his head beneath Derek's gaze.

Heather had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Teenagers were so shy about the oddest things, sometimes. "He's really quite good," she interjected, pulling Derek's attention towards her. "He's made great progress in the couple months he's been in my class. I have every belief that Stiles can go far in art school."

"Oh my god, you're worse than my dad," Stiles muttered, his face turning red.

"Lydia says the same thing," Derek pointed out. "And Ms. Rhodes is right, too, you know. You have talent."

"Shut up," Stiles grumbled, an embarrassed smile curving his lips.

The art club students began filing in then, gawking at Derek as they moved towards the center of the room. Heather cursed mentally and cleared her throat. "Sorry, Stiles, but there's an art club meeting. You're welcome to stay, if you want, of course, but we'll have to talk more about your portfolio later."

"No, it's cool. I have to head out anyway. We'll talk about it tomorrow in or after class?" Stiles said, swinging his backpack from his shoulder to store his sketchbook.

Heather nodded. "Sounds perfect to me."

"Awesome," Stiles beamed at her, and turned to Derek. "You giving me a ride home? I can let Scott borrow my jeep."

"Sure," Derek agreed, and took Stiles' bookbag from him. "Have a good afternoon, Ms. Rhodes."

"You too," Heather called back, and watched Derek usher Stiles out of the classroom with a gentle hand to the small of Stiles' back while he slung the backpack over his own shoulder.

She turned back to her desk, stuffing the envelope in her purse, and smiled a little.


	13. in my dreams began to creep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Deaton idly flipped another page in the book. "Speaking of your bond with Derek, how have you been doing with practicing blocking your emotions feeding through the bond?"_   
>  _"Ugh," Stiles groaned and tried not to kick the exam table in frustration. "It's going better that what you're probably thinking," he said petulantly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from Florence + the Machine's 'Bird Song']
> 
> *tugs on hair*  
> This was supposed to be done and posted _at the beginning of October_ , but noooooo. So now the chapters I'd planned to have up this month (yes, _chapterSSSS_ ) are late. Which, on a related note, Derek's birthday was the 20th by the way.  
> But anyway, if I can get it finished up and polished up, there might be another chapter up later tonight. It really depends, but I'm hoping. ~~It's not like it has to be or I'll lose my shit, it's just that it's sort of relevant to Halloween and at the very least I'd love to have posted it on Halloween if I couldn't get it posted when I'd initially planned.~~  
>  I hope you all have a great Halloween if you celebrate it, please don't be a racist asshole with any costumes you're planning, and party with the spooky skeletons!

_in my dreams began to creep_

* * *

 

When the cloud of mountain ash dispersed, Stiles glanced up to see Deaton standing in the doorway to the room looking incredibly unimpressed. Stiles didn't really care, because he'd totally managed to make a circle out of the ash, small as it was, form around him. He'd been skeptical, when Deaton offhandedly mentioned it was something Stiles would probably be able to do. But, there they were. Stiles was impressed enough for the both of them.

"Clearly I shouldn't leave you unattended with my things," Deaton said with no real inflection indicating whether he was annoyed or angry or something else.

Stiles tried to look at least a little contrite, but he was too pleased to really pull it off. Deaton shook his head and set the book he had in his hands - the one he'd left the room to go grab thus giving Stiles the opportunity to try out the mountain ash trick - on the examination table. The cover was old and a little rough around the spine and corners, and smelled like old leather. It gave off a strange, almost pulsating aura of allure, compelling Stiles to move towards it before he frowned and turned his gaze to Deaton. He had a knowing look in his eyes, and placed his palm down gently on top of the cover.

"I thought this might speak to you," Deaton said simply.

"Cool?" Stiles grumbled, confused, and shot Deaton a look as equally unimpressed as the one Deaton had given him minutes earlier.

Deaton smiled, enigmatic, and opened the book to the first yellowed page. "I'd had my suspicions about you for several years, now. And your unwavering loyalty to Scott, coupled with how you helped him learn how to control his shift, had all but confirmed my suspicions but still I had to be certain, of course, before I showed this to you. There are many names for what you are, which all translate to Protector in English. As you're well aware,  all we really have left are myths and legends, so there's not much concrete knowledge about you. Except, all those myths and legends have one central, integral theme."

"Protecting?" Stiles guessed sarcastically, and Deaton's face remained completely neutral, which frustrated Stiles more than he wanted to admit.

"Protecting supernatural creatures," Deaton answered, seriously.

"What? From what? They're the ones with the super healing and shit!" Stiles pointed out with an incredulous snort.

"From humans, mostly," Deaton said, unperturbed, and Stiles lowered his gaze and crossed his arms over his chest. "As long as there have been creatures like werewolves, there have been humans to hunt them. Of course, when a werewolf goes feral or acquires the taste for human blood, it's nice to have a hunter around."

Stiles snorted again. He knew what Deaton wasn't saying, and he sure as hell didn't have time to butt his nose into Deaton's beef with Peter.

Deaton stared at Stiles impassively for several seconds of pointed silence, and Stiles stared back with narrowed eyes. "But you," he continued as if there had been no interruption, "have the ability to protect them from harm they would not otherwise be able to survive."

"What," Stiles said flatly. "What does that even mean?"

"From what I understand, you saved Derek's life over this summer."

"By forcing him into a soul bond!" Stiles snapped, his fingers clenching down on the table he hadn't even realized he'd moved towards.

"Before that, the day he managed his alpha form."

"I - " Stiles started, on edge, and snapped his mouth shut. "There's no saying he didn't survive due to being an alpha werewolf!" He eventually managed to protest, but it sounded weak even to him.

"Stiles," Deaton said patiently, "how is it that the rest of the pack survived the encounter with the skinwalker?"

Stiles opened and closed his mouth for several moments, unable to answer. He knew any answers he could give would be weak. Deaton would counter them with logic. Stiles wasn't even certain why he was protesting what Deaton was telling him in the first place. It just didn't seem....plausible, that he was powerful enough to do any of those things. But then, he shouldn't have been able to bond his and Derek's souls together the way he had, on accident.

Deaton idly flipped another page in the book. "Speaking of your bond with Derek, how have you been doing with practicing blocking your emotions feeding through the bond?"

"Ugh," Stiles groaned and tried not to kick the exam table in frustration. "It's going better that what you're probably thinking," he said petulantly.

"Hm," Deaton hummed.

"So! What's up with this book?" Stiles asked, voice strained. "Why do I want to read the fuck out of that thing more than I normally would? And also keep you far away from it?"

"Documented supernatural history, compiled by several generations of Hales. Melinda Hale gave it to me for safekeeping not long before the fire."

Stiles frowned, clenching his fingers against the cold metal until it bit into his flesh. He bit his lip against the accusatory questions burning like acid in his throat. He wanted to know why Deaton hadn't given this book to Derek, wanted to demand the answers, but Stiles was pretty sure he wouldn't get them.

Deaton flipped the book closed and slid it over to Stiles. "I will leave this in your care, Stiles."

"Uh," Stiles narrowed his eyes, and let go of the exam table to snatch the book to him. He felt much better with it in his hands, the leather of the binding soft and worn. Deaton clasped his hands in front of himself, still looking unconcerned, and Stiles traced his thumb over the cover self-soothingly as he eyed Deaton suspiciously.

"You did a good job with the mountain ash, Stiles," Deaton said, startling Stiles. "Perhaps next week I'll teach you about the different uses for mountain ash."

"Yeah," Stiles said, thrown. "Sounds good."

"Hm," Deaton nodded and glanced at his watch. "But I'm afraid our lesson for today has come to an end."

"Right," Stiles agreed, watched Deaton turn and leave the room, baffled. "What the hell?" He asked the empty air and looked down at the book. He was pretty sure this had been the strangest encounter he's ever had with Deaton, and that included the time Deaton told him to 'be the spark'.

He sighed heavily, and relaxed his control on the bond. Derek's emotions washed over him, and Stiles' shoulders relaxed. A minute later, his phone vibrated and Stiles couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face. He tucked the book into the bend of his elbow of his left arm, unwilling to put it down, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

_**From Der (6:47 P.M.):** lesson over for the day? everyone's here. ordered pizzas._

_**To Der (6:48 P.M.):** omg yesssss i'll be there soon!_

_**To Der (6:48 P.M.):**  deaton gave me something_

_**From Der (6:49 P.M.):** did you remind him your father's the sheriff?_

_**To Der (6:49 P.M.):** OMG U LOSER! he gave me a book. i'll tell u more when i get there_

With the book still clutched against his chest, Stiles pocketed his phone once more and walked over to grab his backpack up off of the floor next to the door before heading out into the hallway.  Deaton had gone back to his office, the door cracked and a dim light shining through. Stiles sent the office a cynical scowl before hightailing it out of the clinic before Deaton could remember to give him homework. Stiles climbed into the jeep, tossing his bag in the back and keeping the book in his lap; he backed out of his parking spot, then turned onto the street in the direction of the Hale house.

He felt less on edge the closer he got to the house, got the book closer to safety, to people Stiles trusted. He passed the time from Deaton's to Derek's contemplating what Deaton had told him before handing the book over to Stiles. If the book contained what Deaton claimed it did, Stiles' sudden need to keep it safe matched up with everything Deaton had said about Protectors, and Stiles didn't know how he felt about that.

Stiles remembered the burning need to go look for Laura Hale's body, and wondered if things would've turned out differently (which, of course they would have this was a fruitless daydream and he knew it) if he'd gone by himself. He'd finally accepted that whatever had pulled Stiles into the woods that night was something completely inevitable, even if he refused to call it fate. But now, though, he wondered if it hadn't had something to do with this Protector thing. According to what Stiles had read thus far, the whatever was much stronger in the children of women of the bloodline. Like him. Stiles thought maybe it wasn't so far fetched to believe that maybe it was shaping his life, at least a little bit. Not that he thought it explained or forgave him for dragging Scot into the preserve with him, because no matter how many times people told Stiles it wasn't his fault Scott was bitten he was still going to blame himself for it.

There was a gentle brush of warmth and concern, and Stiles smiled a little, allowing himself to be distracted from the path his thoughts were going down. Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of Derek through the bond. With Deaton's new method of helping Stiles learn to control his end of the bond, they were essentially cut off from each other until 11:30 Friday night to 11:30 Sunday night. Stiles hated it, so very much, but he understood where Deaton was coming from. The fact that it was helping Stiles get a better handle on his side left a sour taste in his mouth.

He let Derek feel his amusement at the 'broken rule', because it most certainly wasn't 11:30. Derek felt fond in response, and Stiles could picture the look on his face. If Derek was around the pack at that moment, Erica was sure to be teasing Derek over it, and Peter would definitely join in. Thinking about it, about the pack, made something warm and fuzzy settle in Stiles' stomach, the feeling all his. Derek seemed satisfied, felt pleased, to have distracted Stiles from whatever had been making Stiles feel sad, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

When Stiles finally pulled up to the house, he hummed with pleasant surprise. Derek hadn't been exaggerating about everyone being there, even Stiles' father. The cruiser was parked at the far side of the house, next to Peter's car. Allison's car was next to Jackson's, and Danny's was on the other side of that. Stiles parked next to the camaro and turned the jeep off before sliding out of it with the book tucked closely to his torso.

Erica rounded the corner of the house, Isaac hot on her tail with a water gun. "Hi Stiles!" They shouted simultaneously before disappearing into the trees, their laughter echoing after them.

Stiles smiled, waved after them, and jogged up the front steps and into the house. Derek was in the kitchen with Peter and Caleb, nodding as he listened to whatever Caleb was saying. Stiles started towards them, with every intention of literally jumping into Derek's arms, but he was sidetracked by Drogo barking happily as he raced around Stiles' legs. Drogo's tail wagged so hard his entire but wiggled with it, and Stiles grinned.

"Hey Drogo!" Stiles cooed, reached down with his free hand to scratch the puppy behind his ears, and accepted the enthusiastic puppy kisses in return.

"Some guard dog!" Jackson teased from the living room. "You're supposed to bite intruders, not lick them."

"You're just jealous because Drogo likes me more than you," Stiles shot back with a grin, and continued towards the kitchen when Drogo scampered into the living room to pounce on Boyd.

Derek, standing next to the island where Caleb and Peter were sitting, pulled Stiles into a hug, furtively scenting Stiles. Stiles hugged Derek back with his free arm, pretending like his father wasn't sitting three feet away as he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Derek's mouth. He pulled back a bit to send his dad a hesitant, sideways glance.

His dad shook his head, fond. "Don't give me that look, kid. I'm not gonna get grumbly because you and Derek are scenting each other. Besides, I'd rather smell Derek on you than the disinfectant and cat pee from the clinic."

Peter laughed and Stiles huffed, his face hot. "You are the worst," he grumbled without heat, and pulled out of Derek's arms. "But moving on from that topic before it becomes even more embarrassing, Deaton gave me this book he says Melinda Hale gave to him for safekeeping - "

Derek stilled beside him and Peter jerked to his feet so quickly the stool he'd been sitting on toppled backward. Stiles' mouth snapped shut with a click as he eyed both werewolves nervously. It wasn't like he didn't know who Melinda Hale was to them, but he was still slightly startled by their reactions.

"May I see that book, Stiles?" Peter asked calmly.

Stiles nodded and held it up, hesitating only briefly when Peter reached out to take it from him. His instincts were telling him he could trust Peter with this book, but there was still that residual wariness that liked to rear its head every once and awhile.

Derek moved closer to Peter, one hand sliding down Stiles' arm to lightly hold his hand, a clear point of contact Stiles figured Derek needed. Peter flipped it open with a glance to Derek, and then set it gently on the island so they could both lean over it. Stiles studied it and them from his place between them.

The pages were yellowed and neat script flowed down the first, in a language Stiles didn't recognize right off. Peter hummed thoughtfully and flipped through the pages carefully, and Stiles watched as the words went from something unrecognizable to English. Peter stopped a third of the way through, letting his fingers stroke over the neat script sadly.

Through the bond, Derek felt that bittersweet combination of happy-sad Stiles understood all too well. He got the same way when he was going through his mom's books and notes, or looking at pictures with his dad into the wee hours of the morning. Stiles stepped a bit closer to Derek, pressed against his side in a silent show of comfort.

"I'd forgotten all about this book," Peter murmured, and turned to look at Stiles. "Did Deaton say when my sister left this with him?"

Stiles tried not to wince. "He said she gave it to him not too long before the fire."

Peter made a soft noise, thoughtful as he stepped back away from the book. "I will never understand why Melinda trusted Deaton as much as she seemed to. To trust Deaton with this, no matter what Deaton is."

Derek snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "He claims to be neutral."

Caleb frowned between the two Hales. "I'm not saying your mistrust in Deaton isn't well founded, because I have no idea what's put that mistrust there, but I've known him for years - "

"Deaton is motivated by his own agenda, whether or not it benefits us and our pack. While generally that's not anything I would condemn," Peter interrupted Caleb, and glanced over to Derek. "But I was witness to Deaton's disregard for this pack."

Derek looked away and huffed, and Stiles grimaced. Everyone in the living room was unnaturally quiet. It made Stiles a little nervous. The peace between Scott and most of the pack was precarious, _so precarious_. Derek bumped their shoulders together, and Stiles smiled reassuringly at him.

"Deaton doesn't trust Peter," Derek said with a shrug. "He told me not to trust Peter not long after Peter came back. I don't know if it had more to do with the way Peter brought himself back to life or what."

Peter winced and looked away. Stiles was reminded that Lydia was there, in the living room, all at once, and he really no longer wanted to be talking about Deaton or anything that could start a fight. It seemed like everyone was getting along at the moment, the whole pack was there. Literally all of them. With the exception of Erica and Isaac dicking off in the woods with water guns, and the three of them standing in the kitchen, everyone else was scattered around the living room.

"Weeeell whatever reason she had for trusting Deaton with this book, it was probably a good thing she did," Stiles said hopefully.

"Stiles is right," Caleb agreed, and Stiles shot his dad a grateful look.

Derek nodded, and reached out to flip through the pages with his mother's handwriting. "Did he tell you why he's giving it back? Or giving it to you, at least?"

Stiles snorted. "If you call being cryptic about needing to be certain about me? He told me he had to be certain of me being this Protector thing before he could give it to me."

Peter grumbled under his breath, and Stiles nodded because yeah. Why not just give the book to Derek, if Deaton didn't think Peter could be trusted? Derek shook his head, like he wanted to be surprised but just wasn't. Stiles knew how he felt. It'd be more surprising if Deaton'd been straightforward with him.

Erica burst through the back door, soaked and grinning, startling Stiles and making him shriek indignantly. Jackson laughed from the living room, and Stiles shuffled back a step to look through the archway to glare at him. Jackson smirked, unapologetic, and raised his brows. It was the only warning Stiles got before Erica was tackling him into a soppy hug, and Stiles whined.

"Dereeeeeeeeeek! Control your beta! You're not supposed to let her tackle your boyfriend!"

Derek snorted, shut the book, and picked it up. "Situational awareness, Stiles. I thought you were supposed to be training."

"Oh ha ha," Stiles grumbled, and managed to escape Erica's hold on him. He turned to head towards the back staircase, only to walk face first into Isaac's chest. "Holy shiiii God, where did you come from!?"

Isaac steadied Stiles with a hand on his shoulder and quirked an eyebrow at him. "You okay Stiles?"

"No," Stiles huffed. "Thanks," he added, and patted Isaac's cheek before stomping up the stairs after Derek.

Derek paused at the top of the stairs until Stiles was on the third to the top step. "I don't know why Deaton held onto that book so long," Stiles said when he caught up to him. "But I know that whatever...whatever's going on with me? This Protector thing? As soon as I saw that book, even before Deaton told me what it was, I knew I needed to keep it safe. I was on edge pretty much the whole way here. I think I would've actually...attacked Deaton, to get the book from him."

"Hmm," Derek hummed, stopped in front of his bedroom door, and glanced between Stiles and the book. "I'm not too surprised to hear that." He cocked his head to the side for a moment, and nodded. "Peter isn't either. This book probably contains centuries' worth of information on a vast array of supernatural creatures. According to the stories my grandma always told us, it was a Protector's job to guard our secrets, to keep us alive."

Stiles nodded, and didn't voice what he was thinking. Standing in the rebuilt house that never should've  needed rebuilt to begin with, looking at one of the last living Hales. Despite how irrational and absurd he knew it was, Stiles felt like he had failed the Hales somehow, nevermind the fact he'd only been a kid when the fire happened.

"Hey," Derek said gently, reached up with his free hand to cup Stiles' jaw. "Don't even go there, Stiles, you were a kid who didn't have the first clue werewolves existed, let alone there was a pack living here."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed and voided Derek's gaze. He felt suddenly very exhausted. All he wanted to do was crawl into Derek's bed and curl up into a ball, maybe sleep for twelve hours straight. He definitely didn't want to be thinking any of the things he was thinking. His mom was in there, all that guilt he kept burying because if he didn't he'd suffocate beneath it.

"Stiles?"

"I'm...really tired," Stiles answered.

Derek frowned, concerned, and nodded. "Okay. You can borrow a pair of sweats, and I'll make sure to save you some pizza."

"Mmmmmm sounds awesome," Stiles mumbled, tried to smile reassuringly, and followed Derek into the bedroom. Derek put the book on the small bookshelf next to his bed while Stiles raided Derek's dresser for some sweats. He changed quickly while Derek disappeared into the bathroom, and when he came back out Stiles was sprawled across the bed on his belly and his face buried in Derek's pillow. Stiles listened to Derek shuffle across the carpet, and turned his head towards Derek when the mattress dipped under his weight.

"You want me to stay with you?" He asked, stroked his fingers through Stiles' hair, lightly scratching Stiles' scalp.

"Nah," Stiles sighed, leaned into the touch with a small smile. "The whole pack's here, go bond with them. I just need like a couple hours' nap and then I'll be down to scarf some pizza and kick Jackson's ass at Mario Kart."

Derek laughed and leaned down to press a kiss to Stiles' forehead, and Stiles' heart skipped a beat. "Alright," Derek smiled and stood up with one last affectionate drag of fingers through Stiles' hair. He grabbed the quilt folded at the end of the bed and threw it over Stiles, turned the light off, and closed the door behind him. Stiles smiled, turned his face back into Derek's pillow, and fell asleep to the distant sounds of the pack bickering and laughing downstairs.

He woke up in the woods, unfamiliar and eerily silent. Stiles shivered, confused, and glanced up just as it began to rain. He was drenched in a matter of seconds, and it seemed like it was growing even darker. A raven cried somewhere in the distance, piercing and eerie, shattering the quiet. Stiles glanced around, trying not to panic, but there wasn't even the moonlight to help him see. Something moved behind him, sending a chill racing down Stiles' spine. He turned slowly, trying not to make a sound, and bit back a startled gasp. He didn't need the moon to see the lightskinned man adorned in dark furs crouched over something a few yards away.

The man jumped up and started stalking forward. Stiles, intrigued, followed after him at a slight distance, feeling grateful for the impromptu lessons from Derek on how to move quietly through a forest. They went deeper into the woods, the trees so crowded together the rain hardly touched either of them as they stalked their prey. Unease built in Stiles' gut the further he followed this strange man into the woods, but he couldn't just stop now. He didn't know what the hell was going on, or where he was. He knew it didn't feel like the preserve, the woods. They felt almost off, strange but not.

A flash of grey fur caught both of their attention, and the man darted forward. Stiles realized with horror that the grey fur was actually a wolf, watching as it seemed to freeze and writhe in place. The man moved around it, and Stiles could see the twisted smile on his face as he crouched over the wolf.

Stiles didn't want to stick around to see what the guy would do. He had a pretty good feeling he already knew. He turned away, but the sound of an agonized, terrified cry stopped Stiles short. He nervously turned his head, and couldn't stop the small, horrified gasp as he watched the wolf convulse and slowly contort and shift into a human. Stiles took a stumbling step forward.

The man in the furs snaked a hand forward, so quickly Stiles wasn't entirely certain he'd seen correctly, and plunged it into the werewolf's chest. He pulled his hand back just as quickly, holding an actual fucking heart. Stiles slapped a hand over his mouth, nauseous, and slowly knelt down in the brush, clenching his eyes shut. He could hear what sounded like the man eating the heart, and Stiles so didn't want to think about that, and then only silence. Stiles waited a few more minutes before risking another look, relieved to see the man had moved away from the werewolf.

He inched closer to the body, heart thundering in his ears, because there wasn't a single damn mark on the werewolf's chest where the man's hand just plunged right on in. 'What the fuck' was on repeat in Stiles' head as he stared at the werewolf, and he frowned when there was a persistent tugging at him, like someone was trying to drag him backwards. He stood up fully and turned to head back the way he'd come from when he was snapped over to a clearing. Stiles fell on his ass with a shriek.

When Stiles looked up, the man was standing a few feet from him. His eyes were cold, murderous, and Stiles shrank back, convinced this was it this was how he died. The man opens his mouth, but instead of any actual words, he shrieked, high and odd, inhuman.

"Stiles!"

Stiles flailed and smacked someone in the face, falling off the bed. He blinked a few times, disoriented as he looked around. He was definitely in Derek's bedroom again.

"What the hell?"

"You tell me," Jackson grumbled, rubbing the side of his face.

The rest of the pack were huddled around the foot of the bed, and Derek was on the other side. They all looked scared, and Stiles pulled himself back up onto the bed warily.

"Guys?"

"Your heart was going crazy," Scott said earnestly. "One minute your heart was all sleep steady and the next it was racing like it does when you're running or afraid."

Derek crawled onto the bed and reached out, feeling Stiles like he needed to be sure Stiles was okay. "You felt terrified," he whispered, eyes bright.

"It was - " Stiles started, and stopped with a frown. "I...it must have been a dream? But it didn't feel like it."

"Can you remember anything from it kiddo?" Caleb asked, coming around to stand next to Jackson.

Stiles nodded and shuffled closer to Derek. "I...think I dreamwalked again? But it was so...I watched some guy rip a werewolf's heart out of his chest."

"You what?"

"And the werewolf...there wasn't a single mark on the werewolf's body! Like I literally watched this guy shove his hand into the werewolf's chest and rip out his heart."

They were all silent for a moment, just staring at Stiles in disbelief.

"A creature that kills by taking the heart without leaving a mark on the victim's body?" Peter said, breaking the mounting tension. "Do you think you could have dreamwalked into the creature's dream?"

Stiles shivered and leaned against Derek. "I don't know. I haven't really...learned how to control it or to be certain I'm even doing it? Like the first time it happened I didn't know I'd even done it until I was telling Derek about the dream I'd had and he said it was the same one he'd had."

"Stiles, can you remember anything else about the man, or the dream in general?" Lydia asked, her expression calculating.

"Uh, I kept hearing a bird? Actually, when I was trying to walk away from the body I got like slingshotted to some clearing and the dude saw me. He had a pretty murderous look on his face, and he opened his mouth like he was going to scream at me but instead all that came out was some inhuman screeching."

Lydia nodded. "This could be a lead, Stiles."

"Yeah..." Stiles made a face. "Cool. Great. Now can we maybe go downstairs? I need to watch some shitty comedy movie or something to get that image out of my head."

"We can do that," Derek murmured, and the others nodded in agreement.

They all headed back downstairs and silently agreed to lay blankets and pillows out on the floor before laying down on them, with Stiles and Derek at the center. Peter put on _The Princess Bride_ before settling down next to Caleb on the outside of the pile.

"Not a shitty comedy, but I think this'll do just fine, don't you?"

Stiles snorted and snuggled deeper into the space between Derek and Boyd. "Works for me," he said.

 


	14. you’re everything (a big bad wolf could want)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well _I_ sure as hell can’t be Red Riding Hood,” Erica quipped with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from Sam the Sham's ([covered by Amanda Seyfried](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-NKbxZ983I)) "'Lil Red Riding Hood"]
> 
> Okaaaaaaay, so first thing's first: I'm so sorry this took me so long to post. I really wanted to have it up on Halloween but shit happens. Which brings me to this.....uh. Yeah. I lost most function in my right hand/arm. I can't write, or type, or basically anything else, and it sucks so much. (Typing with 1 hand is the worst and I hate it btw) As of today I haven't been able to do anything with my hand for a week and 3ish days, and I've been informed it'll probably take _at least_ 2 weeks before my hand/arm will be functional, so.   
>  Anyway, I wanted to get this chapter to you guys so here it is. My apologies in advance for any glaring grammatical/spelling errors I may have missed.

Derek gave Erica an unimpressed look when she pouted at him. Boyd and Jackson were snickering somewhere from the living room, and Lydia was next to Erica with a raised eyebrow. The look in her eyes was, well, scary, and Derek pretended otherwise because it would be _really not good_ if Lydia was aware of the affect the evil glint in her eyes was having on Derek.

“Come _on_ , Derek, it’ll be fun!” Erica pleaded. “Just try and tell me it wouldn’t be fun to stalk Stiles through the woods while ‘pretending’ to be a werewolf!”

“Stiles has already accepted his fate as Little Red Riding Hood,” Lydia pointed out. “So if you don’t join these dumbasses in their plots, one of them is going to have to pretend to be the one in love with Stiles.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Derek protested. “That song - ”

“Is totally about you and Stiles,” Erica interrupted. “More about Stiles. Those _eyes_ , and that _mouth_!”

Derek growled, and Erica smirked victoriously. “Fine.”

Lydia smiled brightly. “Good, that’s settled then. Erica, go collect our wayward Stiles, and I’ll tell Boyd, Jackson, and Isaac where to situate everything.”

“Don’t forget Derek’s costume,” Erica said, pecked Lydia’s cheek, and took off out the front door.

Both Lydia and Derek stared after her. Lydia’s face was turning pink, and she looked at Derek with wide eyes. Derek shrugged and returned his attention to his notebook; he knew Lydia would corner him later, when there weren’t werewolf ears around, and grill him about it. Lydia huffed and went outside a few minutes later.

Derek stared at the lines on his notebook, what he had written, a few hours earlier, blurred and jumbled together the longer he stared at the page. He didn’t think he was ready, for this, and the more he thought it the more tangled his feelings became about it. Derek was _angry_ , and before he’d realized it Derek had stabbed his claws through the back cover of his notebook.

Lydia cleared her throat, and Derek blinked down at his notebook once before looking up at her. She was holding a plastic bag, eyebrows raised. Derek shut the notebook and stuffed it into the odds and ends drawer in the counter next to the island before he stood up.

“Why exactly do I have to wear a costume?” He asked, instead of acknowledging the question she wasn’t asking.

“The others are going to be wearing those cheesy wolfman Halloween masks the entire time,” Lydia replied as she tossed him the bag. “To fit with the wolf theme, obviously. You, on the other hand, have two different costumes, because you’re technically the Big Bad Wolf to Stiles’ Little Red Riding Hood, which means you also get to wear a sheep mask.”

Derek sighed, opening the bag up to see both masks staring at him in all their cheesy, rubber, creepy glory. “Why can’t I just not wear the sheep mask?”

“Because you’re a wolf in disguise whenever you’re around Stiles,” Lydia said with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Danny will be here soon, and you two can do your solo shots. You’ll be wearing the wolf mask in those.”

“Okay,” Derek mumbled, and tried not to feel so steamrolled. It wasn’t like this was the first time Derek’s shown up in the cover band's videos. Erica had gleefully informed him, after that first one - which he hadn’t been _aware_ he was in - that their small fan base loved the idea of him and Stiles. After that, with his grudging acceptance, Danny would sometimes edit in outtakes at the end of their videos with Stiles and Derek bickering. Derek was only a little surprised Erica hadn’t yet insisted they make a vlog admitting that Derek and Stiles were a couple. From what he understood, there was a pretty intense debate within the cover band’s following on youtube and tumblr.

Outside Lydia was ordering Isaac to tie something to a tree branch. Derek sighed, silently admitted defeat, and trudged up the back staircase. If he had to play the part of the big bad wolf, well, then, he might as well go along with it. So, leather jacket and an old pair of clawed up jeans it was. He considered shaving, briefly, then shrugged. He’d be wearing masks, anyway.

“Derek?” Danny called out, from the front of the house.

“Just a sec,” he shouted back, scowling at the masks lying innocently on his bed. Derek grabbed up the werewolf mask and went downstairs, glaring sullenly all the way. Danny laughed when Derek started down the stairs, giving him a thumbs up with his free hand. Derek scowled at Danny, tempted to throw the rubber mask at his head.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” Danny protested. “You agreed to it, and I’m just here doing my thing.”

Derek snorted and rolled his eyes. “Lydia and Erica as a united force means there is no willing volunteers for anything,” he said blandly and followed Danny out of the house.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he admitted and shrugged his shoulder. “So, I’m just gonna film you prowling along on your own for now, just a bit off of the southern trail. A few shots you’re just wandering around, the rest you’ve gotta act like you’re stalking Stiles through the woods.”

“Great,” Derek muttered, and felt a little ridiculous as he started into the trees. “He’s going to use this as evidence against me at some point in the future. ‘Look Derek, I have proof that you’re a really good creeper!’.”

Danny laughed, Boyd and Isaac’s chuckles echoing after Danny’s. Derek huffed and yanked the mask onto his head. Danny grinned and pulled his video camera out of the bag. He directed Derek where to stand, suggested where Derek could walk out from or meander to. It was all relatively easy, and Derek relaxed, starting to have fun.

The sound of a car coming up the drive caught Derek’s attention, and a few moments later Isaac was shouting. Derek’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline under the mask, curious, and started back towards the house. Danny stowed his camera away with a sigh and followed after him.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Jackson groaned, his hand covering his eyes.

Erica cackled, and Stiles grumbled under his breath, words jumbled together enough that none of the werewolves could make out exactly what he’d been saying. Derek pulled his mask off before hitting the treeline and stopped short, his mouth dropping open. Stiles was standing next to Lydia’s car, face flushed and a scowl firmly in place. His hands were crossed over his chest, fingers anxiously tapping against the red material of the cape secured around his shoulders.

Derek wasn’t really sure how to respond to the _skirt_ , though.

Isaac made a strangled noise, looking horrified as his gaze snapped over to Derek. Derek felt his face flush, wishing he was standing downwind so his scent wasn’t blowing directly to his betas. Stiles gave Isaac a bewildered look and turned to see Derek, his face breaking into a shy smile.

“Well I wasn’t wrong about Erica making me wear the costume,” he called, gesturing with one hand at himself.

“No,” Derek agreed faintly, “you were definitely right about the costume.”

“Well _I_ sure as hell can’t be Red Riding Hood,” Erica quipped with a smirk.

“You’re the worst,” Stiles grumbled, his eyes still on Derek.

“If I was, I wouldn’t have talked Derek into being your Big Bad,” she replied sunnily.

Derek lobbed the wolf mask at her, disappointed when she caught it before it could hit her in the face, his face feeling hot under Stiles’ scrutiny. Erica laughed, dancing further away from Derek like he had anything else he could throw at her. Derek huffed in response, and moved over to Stiles, who felt anxious and insecure through their bond.

“Hey,” Stiles mumbled, dropping his left arm down to fidget with the hem of the skirt. “It’s kinda…”

“Hey,” Derek said softly, reached a hand out to cup Stiles’ neck. He sent his betas a look, a warning to give them some privacy. Boyd grabbed Erica and Jackson’s wrists, dragging them around the house, Isaac following after them without a word. Stiles glanced at their retreating backs, chewing on his lip, and let Derek draw him closer.

“Is it weird?”

“No,” Derek murmured. “It’s not weird, at all. Especially not if this is something you like.”

Stiles sighed, leaned into Derek, and hid his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. “And if I do?”

“Then you like it,” Derek said as he wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. “And there’s nothing wrong with it, or with you. If anyone says otherwise, or tries to make you feel ashamed for it, I’ll rip their throat out.”

“With your teeth?” Stiles laughed weakly.

“Obviously,” Derek joked. “I’m serious, Stiles. If the betas give you a hard time, I’ll kick their asses, and if anyone else does I’ll enlist your dad and Lydia to help me.”

Stiles laughed, finally feeling lighter, less insecure and anxious. “That’s probably gonna be way more people than the three of you could possibly kick in the ass, dude.”

Derek hummed, unconcerned. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try."

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” Stiles sighed. “Absolutely unbelievable. How are you even real?”

“Are you two done being mushy!?” Erica yelled, and then jogged back around to the front yard. “We’re kinda limited on daylight, you dweebs.”

“Why are we filming this now if you’re not posting the video until Halloween, anyway?” Derek asked after he and Stiles let go of each other and followed Erica back to the rest of the pack.

Danny gave Derek a look filled with such disbelief Derek was one hundred percent certain he was being judged and found lacking. “We don’t have the kind of time required to just wait until the week of. Today we’re shooting the story part, with you and the others stalking Stiles around the forest. Next weekend I’ll be recording them actually playing the song, both indoors and outdoors. Then _I_ get to edit it all together.”

“So we should get started on shooting you wolves stalking Little Red here,” Lydia added with an eye roll.

Derek shrugged and followed them as Lydia and Danny led the rest of them back into the trees.

Scott showed up just as they were finishing up a shot of Derek - in the sheep mask he’d had to go back for - meandering around one of the trails with Stiles. He stared at them all in disbelief, and Derek could see the shift from disbelief to anger in Scott’s posture. Derek braced himself for the fight, because he knew it was inevitable, and it was going to be unpleasant.

“Are you serious?” Scott shouted. “There’s something running around killing people and you’re all messing around, recording… I don’t even know what you guys are recording!”

“Scott,” Stiles said, voice pained, and Derek reminded himself that snarling Scott into silence would only make matters worse. Both short and long term.

“You’re supposed to be researching this thing, Stiles,” Scott said, disgust curling his lip and flashing a hint of fang. “Instead you’re...you’re _fucking around_ with the pack and letting people die!”

Anger flooded the pack bonds, and Derek flashed his eyes at Scott in warning. Stiles took a step closer to Derek, hurt and outrage throbbing in him, his scent sharpening with it. When Derek glanced to the side, Jackson was holding both Erica and Lydia back, and Boyd’s arm was caught in Isaac’s grip.

“I’m not _letting_ anyone die, Scott, what the fuck?” Stiles snapped. “Do you know how much research I’ve already combed through? There’s _nothing_ in the Bestiary, and I have to weed through all the bullshit internet searches puke back at me. And! On top of that, it’s all hit or miss as to whether we come across its victims. My dad can’t just order a full autopsy on everyone who passes through the morgue!"

Scott opened his mouth to reply, and Derek let out a single, low growl. Scott’s mouth snapped shut and he fixed a yellow-eyed glare on Derek. Derek met his gaze, unimpressed, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“There’s only so much we can actually do right now, and asking Lydia and Stiles to run themselves ragged isn’t going to save more people,” Derek said, as calmly as he could, and focused on the cadence of Stiles’ heart when Scott flashed his eyes challengingly again. “They have the right to step back and take some time for themselves, especially in situations like this.”

“Yeah, but,” Scott started, only for Lydia to cut him off.

“Scott, what precisely are _you_ doing to help? Riding Stiles’ ass? Deaton’s?” Lydia said softly, voice cold and eyes sharp. “We’re all frustrated. Shouting at us isn’t going to fix it.”

“And just because you have no fucking interest in being a part of this pack doesn’t mean the rest of us share your opinion,” Erica snarled, and bared her fangs to the ensuing, startled quiet her words left behind. “This ‘messing around’, as you put it, happens to be one of the ways we all bond. Pack. Bonding.”

“Scott,” Stiles finally sighed wearily, taking the last couple steps towards Derek to lean his shoulder against Derek’s. “I know you want to help people. I do too, but we really don’t know what we’re even looking for, exactly. We have exactly one vague, legitimate clue and the possibility I magically wandered into this thing’s dream. There’s only so much you can do with that, and we don’t have the slightest idea how frequently this thing kills, assuming it’s not just stealing dead people’s hearts. And, you know, I’ve got the lessons with Deaton, and that training with Allison’s dad, and my dad on. On top of school. I’m already stretched so thin, dude, so why can’t I have this?”

Scott had the decency to look abashed, and he hung his head a bit. “I know, Stiles, shit. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, bro. I just…”

Derek frowned, then sighed softly. “You’re jealous.”

“No!” Scott growled, then hunched his shoulders. “Maybe. A little.”

“Scott buddy,” Stiles said sadly, “you’re still my bro, my _brother_. That hasn’t changed.”

“I know,” Scott mumbled. “I know that, but I just. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that; shouldn’t have accused you of just letting people die like you have any control over any of this. I’m really, really sorry.”

“It’s,” Stiles started, then stopped and glanced at Derek briefly before shaking his head to himself. “It’s not okay. You’re right, you shouldn’t have, but I forgive you anyway.”

Derek bit back the words sitting on the back of his tongue, the urge to point out that Scott’s been a shitty friend to Stiles for as long as Derek’s known them both. He was pretty certain he wasn’t the only one holding their tongue, the entire pack bond a tangled knot of anger and disgust in the back of his head. Stiles was a throb of hurt in his chest, though, a reminder, and Derek refused to add to that no matter how badly he wanted to call Scott out.

“So uh,” Scott said awkwardly, breaking the tense silence again. “You look pretty good in a skirt.”

Stiles’ face turned bright red. “Thanks, Scott,” he squeaked.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulder and turned his head to kiss Stiles’ temple. “He’s not wrong.”

Erica laughed and started humming the chorus of _‘Lil Red Riding Hood_ , and Stiles groaned. “ _Oh_ my god, shut up!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had the patience to draw up scenes from the music video, because gosh but I have had this vision in my head since almost the start of 'How Do I Live'. If I were better at video editting it I would try to create it. Hell, if I had the patience to draw and knew how to I'd frelling (ignore me, been watching a ton of _Farscape_ ) make an animation of it. IT'D BE SO BEAUTIFUL.


	15. trust i seek and i found in you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Happy birthday, Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [chapter title taken from Metallica's 'Nothing Else Matters' (because this song is so Derek and Stiles)]
> 
> OKAY. Well. Hi everyone. It's been awhile, huh? I'm really sorry about that, but uh. If you read the author's notes from last chapter I mentioned having no function in my right hand/arm and the projected date for gaining functionality back. Well...that estimate was off. Super off. It took almost a month, actually, and now my right arm is significantly weaker and shakes sometimes. Super fun. So I had about a month of being unable to write, and when I _could_ again I managed about...half of this chapter. Then other stuff happened. I had Christmas stuff, and then I drove up to visit my best friend for New Year's, and _then_ a bunch of irl stuff swallowed me whole. Whoops.  
>  In other news, I've decided that after this chapter I'm _probably_ going to hold off on posting more chapters until the fic is completed. I've got a fair bit written already, and I'm pretty sure I'm close to finishing it, but I don't know how much longer it'll take me as I've kinda been cycling between working on this and a few original works. Anyway, I'm SO SORRY for the super long wait, and the potential wait for the rest, and I wanna thank everyone who's stuck with this and been so patient.  
>  OH! And thank you to everyone who left such lovely and encouraging comments, I really appreciate them and they made me smile! Normally I reply to 99% of all comments I get but some of them were from when I couldn't use my hand/arm and I felt weird answering them like two months later. So like special shout out to you guys you rock! <3

_trust i seek and i found in you_

* * *

 Stiles was in the kitchen when Derek got home. The house smelled like all of Derek’s favorite foods, and his heart flipped and ached as he thought about his mom. He kicked his shoes off and dropped his keys on the side table as he passed on his way to the living room. The mail was sitting on the coffee table next to a mug of spiced apple cider, and Derek smiled as he sat on the floor between it and the couch. He sipped at his drink while he sorted through the mail, using his claws to open up the bills and nearly choking when he got to a birthday card from Laura’s friends in New York.

“How did Laura’s friends get my address?” Derek called out as he opened it. There were messages from all four of them, wishing him a happy birthday and asking if they could maybe visit in the spring, pay their respects to Laura since they couldn’t attend the funeral - one that never really happened. Derek made a mental note to email them later.

“Dude, check the address on the envelope,” Stiles laughed from the stove. “Colin sent it to _my_ house. I guess he mentioned to the others that I knew you, and they insisted on sending you a birthday card?”

“Hmph,” Derek flipped the envelope over, and snorted. “How did your dad feel about getting mail in his mailbox that’s clearly addressed to me?”

“He just handed it to me with this _look_ like he thought I had any idea what it was.” Stiles snorted, and a spoon clattered against the granite top of the counter. “It took me a couple minutes to remember that I’d told Colin that they could all just send birthday cards to my address, because I wasn’t sure if you wanted them to have yours and I kind of wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, you can consider me surprised,” Derek said, amused.

“Good,” Stiles replied, sounding pleased. “So how was your birthday lunch with Peter? Was it suitably awkward?”

“It was fine. Erica, Boyd, Jackson, and Isaac showed up and dragged us out to play laser tag,” Derek smiled. “Peter won, like I knew he would, but Isaac gave him a run for his money.”

“Aww, papa wolf bonding with his betas!” Stiles cooed teasingly.

“Please don’t call me that, it’s weird. Peter is both older than me and my uncle,” Derek grimaced. “And I’m not that much older than the rest of you.”

“Wrong! You, Mr. Hale, have reached the gates of adulthood, passed through them in fact, leaving the rest of us in the dust. You can now legally drink alcohol that does nothing for you anyway...aaaand buy beer for parties.”

Derek snorted and tucked the birthday card into _A Storm of Swords_ tucked away in the bottom of coffee table. “I’m not buying you alcohol, Stiles, so you can forget it.”

“Aw man you’re no fun,” Stiles joked, appearing in the threshold between kitchen and living room. He was wearing an apron with a cartoon Iron Man in a chef’s hat plastered across the top half.

“I guess it’s a good thing you like me for more than my sense of fun, huh?” Derek joked back, then, “where the hell did you find that apron?”

“Oh dude, isn’t it great? Erica bought it for me off of Etsy as a birthday present,” Stiles said as he smoothed  his hands down the front with a grin. “Speaking of, you’re not getting mine until after we eat.”

Derek huffed a laugh. “Okay. It smells good, by the way, whatever you’ve got cooking in there.”

“Peter gave me a recipe for this stew he says your grandmother would make you,” Stiles beamed, pleased. “I’m glad it smells good. Hopefully it tastes good. I mean, it probably won’t be as good as when she made it, but hopefully mine will come a little close.”

“I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” Derek assured as he pushed himself back up to his feet. “It’ll be delicious because _you_ made it for me.”

Stiles smiled and flapped his hands at him. “Okay, good. Now go put on a nice comfy sweater and some sweats, I’ve provided cozy slippers too. When you’re changed, go to the table I set up behind the house. You can’t miss it.”

“Okay,” Derek agreed, bemused, and headed for the back staircase only to be shooed away from the kitchen. “Stiles,” he sighed fondly and reached out to grab Stiles’ shoulder to pull him in for a quick kiss. “You’re ridiculous.”

“This _class_ is ridiculous,” Stiles mumbled even as he drew Derek back in for another kiss. “But shut up, you love it. Now go get changed!”

Derek shook his head with a smile and turned around, walking to the front staircase and up the stairs. There were  flameless candles lining the second floor, all the way to his bedroom, and Derek smiled goofily at them, feeling warm. His room was similarly  decorated with the flameless candles, and he shook his head as he moved around, grabbing a pair of sweats and a sweater he’d picked up from a thrift store the year before. Derek changed, then glanced around for the slippers Stiles’d promised. He spotted them tucked just slightly under the foot of the bed.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he sighed as he grabbed them for a closer look. They were paws, with fake gray fur and squishy white claws. “Absolutely ridiculous,” he muttered, warm and fond despite himself, and stuffed his feet into them. He _could_ forgo them entirely, but Derek was pretty sure Stiles would never forgive him if he did. Plus, they were as cozy as Stiles had implied.

All dressed, Derek left his room and went down the back staircase, amused by the flameless candles’ continued path spreading down the steps. It seemed that Stiles went out of his way to be romantic, and this knowledge left Derek feeling warm and happy. Stiles wasn’t in the kitchen when Derek reached the bottom of the stairs, so he took a minute to breathe in the warmth and spices of the kitchen. The memories, when they came, didn’t hurt the way they used to, and even if it was more because his grandmother had died years before the fire, Derek was glad.

Derek finally headed outside, after another moment taking in the scents and basking in the warmth. He huffed out a surprised laugh as he stepped off the back porch. There were more flameless candles in clusters of three or four, spread out in the grass in a gently curving path towards the treeline which he followed sedately. A ways passed the start of the trees was a small table and two chairs set up beneath branches wrapped in strings of lights. A few feet away Derek spotted a hammock strung between two thick oaks, and Derek raised his eyebrows at it before taking a seat in one of the chairs.

Stiles appeared a couple minutes later, a huge grin on his face and arms loaded with food dishes. “Voila, your meal arrives!”

Derek stood back up, to help Stiles, but he was glared at until he sat back down. Stiles smiled, and with a satisfied little nod he placed the dishes on the table carefully. Derek quietly watched as Stiles then started uncovering each dish with an exaggerated flourish and a waggle of his eyebrows, smirking victoriously when Derek huffed a small laugh at his antics.

“Okay, so,” Stiles said, and took his seat across from Derek, “I do believe the birthday boy gets to make his plate up first.”

“I thought I reached the gates of adulthood?” Derek asked seriously as he began serving himself, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across his face.

“God you’re such a dork,” Stiles griped fondly. “There’s just no pleasing you.”

“Uh-huh,” Derek raised a brow. “I can think of a few things I’d be pleased with.”

“Dude!” Stiles squawked, his jaw flushing, and began serving himself. “Not fair.”

Derek smiled and started eating, warmth washing over him as he tasted the stew. Stiles had been right, it didn’t taste exactly like his grandmother’s, but it was still delicious. He stuffed three more spoonfuls of it into his mouth before he realized Stiles was watching him apprehensively, and Derek sent him a pleased smile.

“This is really great, Stiles,” he said. “Thank you.”

Stiles beamed at him, his face lighting up, and he started eating his own food. “I’m glad,” he murmured between spoonfuls of stew, and then they ate in relative, comfortable silence.

“Peter told me he talked your dad into going to the BHPD’s Halloween Party,” Derek said a few minutes later. “I’m only sixty percent worried.”

“Oh, _jeez_ ,” Stiles snorted and finished the last of his food. “I don’t know who I’m more afraid of picking their costumes, Peter or my dad.”

Derek quirked a brow. “Peter is...creative. When I was growing up he’d help Sky create the most realistic zombie or demon or whatever. The zombie was incredibly disturbing. My mom was so pissed.”

Stiles grinned. “I’m not surprised. Dad’s not all that artistic, and I’m ninety percent certain he picked the most embarassing as possible costumes to take me trick’r’treating on _purpose_.”

“Maybe they’ll balance each other out.”

“Dude,” Stiles shot him a _look_.

Derek grimaced and nodded. “You’re right. We’ll just have to hide out somewhere far from them.”

“Hell yeah we will. Oh, and you might want to warn Erica off of throwing a party here. I think she’s _plotting._ W ith _Lydia_.”

“I’ll just tell her to have it at the old train station,” Derek said, and started stacking their dirty dishes.

Stiles made a face at him, then nodded. “Good idea. They can have their out of control rave in the creepy abandoned train station, while _I_ hide out in your living room watching cheesy eighties horror movies.”

“Oh are you?”

“Yep,” Stiles raised his brows. He stood up and rounded the table, grabbing Derek’s hand and tugging him up out of his own seat. Derek followed him as he led them to the hammock.

“What makes you think that?” Derek asked as he watched Stiles climb into the orange and blue hammock with surprisingly little flailing.

Stiles beckoned Derek in and grinned. “Well, you see, I was hoping my boyfriend would join me. I’m told nothing beats cuddling with your boyfriend while watching campy horror flicks older than you.”

Derek climbed into the hammock with Stiles, careful not to flip them, and wriggled around until they were both comfortable curled around and tangled with each other. “Hmm,” he hummed, his nose pressed to Stiles’ temple, “maybe. I could be convinced.”

“I’m sure,” Stiles laughed, then sighed happily. “Happy birthday, Derek.”

“Thanks,” Derek murmured, and pressed a kiss to the side of Stiles’ head. “This has been the best birthday I’ve had in several years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek's birthday present is a mystery :P


	16. interlude: (i will learn to love) the skies i'm under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [interlude title taken from Mumford & Son's 'Hopeless Wanderer']
> 
> I have zero excuses or explanations. I'm posting this as proof that I have not abandoned this fic. I'm struggling with it, and I want to do it justice, but I'm still working on it. Just...very, _very_ slowly.

_interlude: (i will learn to love) the skies i'm under_

* * *

 Heather sighed as she hurried through the halls towards Mr. Hart's classroom. She hoped he made it to the hospital in time to be there for his child's birth. Hart'd been quietly excited about it for the last several months, talking about nursery colors and baby names in the teacher's lounge with Heather and a few others.

When Heather made it to the classroom, she was relieved to see that the room was more or less behaved without an authority figure. Some students were loudly arguing about football in the back, but most of the others were quietly chatting amongst themselves. It was nice, Heather thought. She was used to smaller numbers, and her art students were typically content to follow her few classroom rules to keep the freedom she gave them.

"Oh hey Ms. Rhodes," Stiles said brightly, looking slightly confused.

Heather sent him a smile as she moved into the room and stood in front of Hart's desk. "Hello everyone, as you can see Mr. Hart isn't here. He got a call a little bit ago for a family emergency. I'll be covering this class until the substitute gets here."

"Is his baby being born?" One of the students sitting in the middle asked, eyes wide and excited. Heather smiled, and several of the other students exploded into excited whispers.

Honestly, Heather wasn't surprised that Hart's students knew about his pending fatherhood.

"Mr. Hart was, as you all can imagine, very excited and in a rush to leave so he didn't leave any instructions for you guys." Heather tapped her fingers against her thighs, considering them all, then smiled again. "So, I'd like you cats to work on homework. You can talk amongst yourselves, only if you're quiet about it, though."

"Oh my god," Stiles whispered, a delighted grin stretching across his face as he mouthed 'you cats' to himself.

Heather tried not to laugh and turned to contemplate the chalkboard. She was very tempted. It'd been awhile since she played with chalk, and she wanted to leave a cutesy little drawing in honor of the new Hart baby. Realistically she knew the drawing would probably gone long before Hart came back.

"Seriously, Lydia," Stiles' voice, no louder than anyone else's but familiar enough to Heather's sensitive hearing, carried. It didn't help that he was sitting relatively close to the front of the room, of course.

"You're sure it wasn't a regular dream?"

Heather glanced back to watch the girl sitting in the seat next to Stiles' lean forward with an intense look on her face. Stiles leaned forward in response, and Heather figured this was the Lydia Martin she's heard mentioned before. Before he could respond, Heather forced herself to tune them out.

There was a low buzzing, a shudder of unease that wrapped itself around Heather's lungs, and she schooled her face before it could betray the sudden anxiety. She sat at Hart's desk, found a blank piece of paper and a pencil, and started sketching out the first few lines of a cartoon baby. The buzzing quieted down, still there but barely noticeable, but the unease and anxiety grew until Heather felt like she might drown in it.

"What was that thing you were saying?" Lydia's voice joined the buzzing in a soft counterpoint, drawing Heather's attention unwillingly away from her drawing so that she went still and taut. "Once, twice?"

_Thud._

Heather startled, standing and moving around the desk and over to the window to inspect the streak of blood and black feather stuck to the pane. The buzzing shifted sharply into a high whine that only she could hear, her own personal dog whistle, and Heather's heart lurched into her throat. She lifted her gaze to stare out at the swarm of dark birds flying towards the classroom windows, cawing and if Heather were better with bird sounds she'd feel more confident in identifying them as ravens.

As it was, Heather _wasn't_ confident in identifying them, so she didn't. Instead she turned her head towards Stiles and Lydia, because the whining was so high and constant, a warning trill that sent her heart racing and made her hands tremble.

Stiles' eyes flicked up, locking with Heather's, and they held each other's gaze for moment that seemed to stretch into infinity though it couldn't have been more than a split second. Glass shattered and some of the students screamed, and Heather jolted into action.

"Everybody away from the windows, take cover!" She yelled over them as she lurched away from the windows herself, reaching out to grab a quaking girl and covering her as the classroom descended into chaos and the screech of birds.

Heather clenched her jaw as the whine grew higher and worse, something she would never believe could happen despite _knowing_. Her tattoo burned, sharp and sudden. Heather hissed softly and risked a glance up and out from beneath the desk she'd pulled the girl under. Stiles was between his and Lydia's desk, covering Lydia as his wide eyes darted wildly around the room.

_Not so safe after all_ , Heather thought hysterically, and closed her eyes against the whining and shrieking birds.

"Ms. Rhodes?" An unsteady voice called some minutes later, and Heather uncurled from her protective position over the girl.

"Is everyone alright?" Heather asked, thankful her voice didn't waver, and helped the student she'd shielded up off the floor.

"What the fuck was that?" Another student demanded, voice shot through with fear and confusion.

Several others joined in, and Heather swallowed back the frustration. These were _teenagers_ and they'd just gone through a bizarre and traumatic experience, she couldn't expect them to react calmly. But, Heather didn't know how she was supposed to calm them down, get them to focus on her and do what needed to be done.

"Hey!" Stiles yelled, and a moment later everyone was staring at him in confusion.

"I need everyone to gather in the back of the classroom, please," Heather instructed, taking advantage of the sudden quiet gratefully. "I'm going to call the office."

"Hey, Ms. Rhodes?" Stiles said softly as the rest of his classmates - minus Lydia, who hovered close behind him - shuffled to the back of the room obediently. "Is it okay if I call my dad?"

Heather blinked, still a little frazzled. "What? Oh, yeah, yes of course!"

Stiles sent her a tight smile and pulled his phone from his pants pocket. Heather shook her head and went to Hart's desk to get on his phone. She dialed the extension for the principal's office and as she waited for someone to pick up Heather tried to figure out what exactly had just happened.

An hour later, Heather locked herself in the art supplies room with her phone. She leaned heavily against the door, then slowly slid down until she was seated uncomfortably on the cold tiles. Heather closed her eyes as her hands shook, allowed herself a few minutes before she took several deep breaths and found some semblance of calm.

Jay picked up on the second ring.

" _Heather? What the fuck are you okay!?_ "

Heather let out a harsh breath, a jagged, mirthless laugh. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay," she said, then told Jay what'd just happened.

" _Fuck_ ," Jay breathed when Heather trailed off. " _Fucking fuck. Okay, I'm coming to Beacon Hills._ "

"Jay," Heather said nervously. "Jay, is that really safe?"

" _It doesn't matter, Heather._ "

"It fucking does matter," Heather snapped.

" _Heather -_ "

" _Blue_ ," Heather all but snarled, then snapped her mouth shut. She could hear Jay breathing heavily on the other end, and the ribbon of anxiety tightened itself around her lungs again. "Jay..."

" _I understand your concern, Heather, but I can't sit by. This is...this is different than what. Look, I'll explain better when I get there, okay? Just... I'll be in Beacon Hills by next week. Er, maybe a tad longer than that, if I have to shake them off my trail._ "

"You had to move again, didn't you?"

Jay sighed, and Heather scrubbed a hand over her face. " _I don't know if it was actually them or not, but I moved as a precaution._ "

"Jay, they'll look for you here, eventually."

" _I know, but maybe not for a bit. I need to do this, Heather._ "

Heather ground her teeth together for a moment, then took another deep breath and said, unhappily, "I know, fuck. I know. Keep me updated."

" _Of course I will._ "


	17. now i'm reaching for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [title taken from Red's 'Hymn for the Missing']
> 
> *scuttles over and drops chapter*  
> ....Proof I haven't abandoned this fic....

_~now i'm reaching for you~_

* * *

Stiles sighed and shut another of his mom’s journals gently. Outside snow was falling fast and heavy, and he frowned at the frost on his window. “Good thing Derek learned how to use the front door,” he joked to himself, and heard Peter laughing from his father’s bedroom.

A couple minutes later Peter shouted, “I hope Scott learned how to use the front door, too.”

“Usually,” Stiles replied conversationally, grinning as he turned his computer on and pulled up his English paper. “But I locked the window so he’s definitely not letting in any cold air that way.”

Scott stomped in through the back door then, saying something that had Peter cackling as he walked down the hall, probably to the bathroom. Scott shoved his way into Stiles’ room, grumbling, “I could hear you guys, you know?”

“That was kind of the point, dude,” Stiles laughed and fixed a punctuation error. “So what’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Scott said with a sheepish shrug, and slumped onto the end of the bed, absently ruffling his hair and dislodging the snowflakes that’d collected in the strands.

Stiles made a disgruntled face at him. “ _ Dude _ , don’t get my bed wet,” then nodded his head a moment later. “And okay, just give me a few minutes to finish up this conclusion.”

“Yeah okay,” Scott agreed, then stood up and shuffled over to the chair. He picked through the shirts piled there, surreptitiously sniffing at them, and rubbed his head vigorously with one that probably smelled clean. Stiles stared at him in disbelief, and Scott just made a face at him.

“You’re weird,” Stiles laughed, and returned his attention to the laptop.

A ‘few minutes’, naturally, turned into almost a half hour, and when Stiles emerged from his homework haze, triumphantly clicking ‘print document’ after a third read through, he spun around on his chair only to find Scott carefully reading through the journal he’d set aside earlier. Stiles blinked at him, unsure how to feel about Scott  handling something that’d belonged to his mom. He was twitchy even when Derek was gingerly flipping through the pages.

“Done,” Stiles finally managed, and Scott lifted his head with a sheepish smile.

“This one of the journals you mentioned? The one with all the lore and family history and stuff your grandpa made up for your mom?” Scott asked, gently closing it when he caught the expression on Stiles’ face.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, and stood up to join Scott on the bed. “There’re a lot of them. This is only the sixth one I’ve combed through completely.”

“Dude,” Scott said, eyes wide. “Intense. I...feel like even more of an ass now, seeing how much you actually have to comb through, in these. What I read of this one...are they all interspersed with relevant to the pack information like this?”

Stiles snorted and leaned back against the headboard. “Pfft, hell yeah they are. Really it’s kind of like one giant book series. Pretty sure gramps wanted mom to read about her culture and heritage in a way he knew she’d soak up. It’s been kinda cool, for me, too, learning about my mom and grandfather’s heritage.”

“It’s yours, too,” Scott said, with a slight frown.

“Well, yeah, but,” Stiles shrugged. “I was never raised with it the way my mom was. She was born and raised on a Reservation, and pretty much ran from it as soon as she could. Got into a college several states away and,” he shrugged again, picking at the seam of his jeans.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not a part of you, dude.”

“I know, but it sometimes feels like it isn’t, not really. I don’t know why  my mom chose to raise me away from this part of her heritage, of our heritage. Now I wonder if it wasn’t a  _ thing _ , like some instinct telling her to keep us both far away from it.”

Scott nodded, his face creasing into a thoughtful frown. “Because of the skinwalker, right? That’d make sense. It did take that thing forever to find you, and even then it thought Danny was you.”

“Exactly,” Stiles huffed. “I just don’t know, man. But I feel weird when I think about reclaiming my heritage, I guess. I wanna learn about it, but, eh. I don’t know, bro.”

“That’s cool,” Scott said gently, and reached out a hand to grip Stiles’ ankle comfortingly.

“So what did you wanna talk to me about?”

“Subtle,” Scott joked teasingly, then sighed heavily. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for the last few weeks, but I’ve been too chicken shit to really do so. I just...just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. That really was super shitty of me, I should never have taken my frustration out on you. Or my jealousy.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Stiles snorted, then shook his head.

Scott sighed, looking shamefaced, staring down at his hands. “I guess it just hit me fully, then, that you’ll never...come with me, and Allison. I mean I always sort of knew that, like even before you and Derek got together I knew if I left the pack you wouldn’t come with me. The pack, well, it’s yours. Everyone in it is loyal to you. I think they’d all give their lives for you, honestly. Even Isaac and, well, I don’t know about Danny so much but...I just fully realized it all and I felt like I lost you.”

“Scotty,” Stiles said softly, frowning, “you haven’t lost me. You’re my brother, and I’ll always be here for you, man. But you’re right, they’re my pack. I...I know I can count on them. I know that if I call one of them, they’ll answer their phones.”

“Yeah,” Scott flinched, looking even more ashamed than a few minutes previous.

“I need that, Scott,” Stiles continued, not letting Scott say anything more. He needed to get this out, he realized, and he couldn’t have Scott interrupting him with apologies. “I need people I know I can turn to, people who’ll come help pull my ass out of the fire if something happens. I love you, man, you really are my brother in all but blood, but...I don’t feel like I can count on you the way I can count on them.”

Scott nodded, swallowed thickly, and gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t blame you, and I’m not gonna try to make you feel otherwise. I deserve it,  _ I _ did this. I was a shitty friend, in so many ways. I made you feel like you can’t count on me, and you’re completely justified in that.  It makes me feel like shit, knowing I let you down. I know there’s really not anything I can do to make it right. It doesn’t matter that I was going through my shit, because so were you. Some of it was even the same. We were supposed to be in this together, and I let you down.”

Stiles stared, dumbstruck, and Scott met his eyes. He felt speechless, and he could remember exactly why they’d been friends for so long. Scott and he clicked together no matter that they seemed to be polar opposites in a lot of things. The guilt Stiles kept buried wriggled its way to the surface, clawed at his gut as Stiles held Scott’s gaze. He could see the kid who’d followed Stiles out into the woods to find half a body, no more dangerous than a newborn puppy with a floppy mop of hair.

“You know I don’t actually blame you for me getting turned, right?” Scott murmured, like he could tell what Stiles had just been thinking about. If Stiles smelled as guilty as he felt, he figured it wasn’t that hard of a deduction to make. Scott knew him, and this was something they never talked about, would avoid it the way they avoided talking about Scott’s dad.

“Yeah, I guess,” Stiles muttered, then scowled as he thought about some of their arguments over the last year and a half. “But if that’s true you’ve gotta stop holding it against me when we get into fights.”

Scott winced and and nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was never your fault, you didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do that night. You didn’t know there was a psychotic alpha werewolf running around. It could’ve easily been you who was turned.”

Stiles snorted and squirmed around until he was partially under the quilt his mom had made when she started getting sick. “I,” he started, then hesitated, suddenly remembering that Peter was still somewhere in the house. He swallowed back the guilt, because Peter’d made it clear that he wasn’t afraid to hear what people had to say about his stint as alpha. “I don’t know that Peter would have. He was totally unhinged, and even not in his right mind he...gave me a choice, when he made me help him find you and Derek.”

“What? What are you talking about? Stiles?”

“He asked me if I wanted the bite, I told him no, he called me a liar, then took off,” Stiles shrugged. “I still have no idea why, but I’ve pretty much given up on ever figuring it out, and I’m definitely not asking Peter about it any time soon. I don’t care enough to try, anyway.”

“Oh,” Scott managed, eyes wide as he stared at Stiles, face blank. “Oh. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Well, you were extra cranky about being a werewolf - and that’s the nice way of putting it. I didn’t really know how you’d react to finding out the alpha who turned you without your consent  _ offered _ me the choice to become one and seemingly respected my refusal.” Stiles started, ticking them off on his fingers. “We were too worried about what was going to happen to Lydia. You were trying to figure out the best ways to sneak around with Allison without getting a faceful of wolfsbane bullets. Take your pick, dude.”

Scott wrinkled his nose, opened then shut his mouth like he was second guessing whatever he was going to say, and eventually gave a long suffering sigh. Stiles raised his brows, a little surprised to see the fight drain out of Scott. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected, if he was honest.

“Soo _ ooo _ ,” Scott said, his voice pitching up on the drawn out o’s. “Not to completely change the subject, but I did also want to ask you something.”

“Well, Scotty, I might have an answer for you.”

“Isaac said something yesterday, offhand - I don’t think he even realized what he said - but I…” Scott frowned - totally ignoring Stiles’ smartass comment - and Stiles recognized that frown. It was the frown Scott gave him before asking if Stiles thought Allison  _ really _ liked him back. Finally, Scott managed, “did Isaac have a crush on me?”

“Scott,” Stiles sighed, shaking his head, “man, don’t ask me that. Don’t bring me into this. You  _ know _ I’m not going to answer that.”

“He did!?”

“I didn’t even answer you!”

Scott huffed and punched Stiles’ leg lightly. “Dude, you didn’t have to. If he didn’t, you would’ve just said so.”

“Damn it Scott - ”

“Why didn’t…?” Scott interrupted, and Stiles glared at him.

“Why didn’t he say anything?” Stiles asked incredulously. “Seriously, bro? Man, ugh, no. No way, this is none of my business. I’m telling you, don’t bring me into it. You wanna know the answer to those questions, you ask Isaac.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott said, placatingly. “I’ll leave you out of it. I’m just...surprised, I guess?”

Stiles huffed and nudged Scott’s hip with his foot. “Are you sulking about being oblivious? Is that what this is?”

“Shut up,” Scott whined, and flopped down sideways across Stiles’ legs. “Oh yeah! How was that birthday dinner for Derek?”

“It turned out really well, then we fell asleep in the hammock.” Stiles grinned.

Scott beamed at him. “I’m glad it was a success, dude!” He squirmed a little, so that he was lying across Stiles’ thighs instead of his knees digging into Scott’s stomach. “Oh! I kept forgetting to ask, but how  _ are  _ you? Allison said Lydia was incredibly freaked about the bird thing.”

Stiles gave Scott a disbelieving look. “That happened last week, bro, what the hell?”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry! I wanted to ask you after I found out but by then you’d gone over to Derek’s and I had to go to work and then it just totally slipped my mind!” Scott mumbled, expression sheepish.

“Okay,” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “What reminded you, then?”

Scott nodded over to one of Stiles’ stray drawings, the one he’d done of the chickadee. Stiles diverted his gaze from it, instead watching his fingers as they worried the edge of his blanket. Scott made a concerned noise at the back of his throat and shuffled around until he was sitting beside Stiles.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking,” Stiles reassured, though he didn’t sound very convincing to his own ears. “It was ridiculous, Scott. Terrifying, and brief, and I...I swear I saw something before all those birds crashed into the window.”

“What’d you see?” Scott asked earnestly. He reached a hand out, gripped Stiles’ knees reassuring, and Stiles shot him a wan smile.

“That bird,” Stiles gestured at his drawing again. “That chickadee, ring included, after the first bird smacked into the window. I can’t really be sure, you know? It wasn’t flying at the window or anything, just darted by really quickly.”

Scott studied him for a long moment. “Okay, what do you think that means? Have you talked to anyone else about it?”

“I mentioned it to Lydia, the day after, but she thinks it’s more likely I imagined it,” Stiles said, a little bitterly.

“If you say you saw it, you saw it,” Scott told him. “There were so many instances you were right and I didn’t listen to you when I should have.”

“Like Matt?”

“Like Matt,” Scott nodded. “So tell me, Stiles. What do you think that bird means?”

Stiles shrugged and started chewing the cuticle on his thumb. “I don’t really know. If I start looking into I know I’ll fall into a research spiral and we don’t exactly have  _ time _ for that. I need to figure out what the fuck this creature is.”

Scott frowned sadly at him. “I’m sorry, for putting so much pressure on you. Would you like to play some video games?”

“Okay,” Stiles grinned gratefully. “I’m going to  _ destroy _ you at Mario Kart.”

“Oh you’re  _ on _ ,” Scott smiled back, flashing his eyes at Stiles playfully. They raced out of Stiles’ bedroom, and down the stairs, into the living room, pushing each other happily along the way.

A couple hours later - “C’mon dude, best three out of five!?” “Sure Scotty, I’ll give you a fighting chance.” - and the snow storm hadn’t died down. The controllers lay forgotten on the coffee table. Stiles felt remarkably more relaxed than he had earlier that day, and he sent Scott a grateful smile when he started in on the fairness of the shells.

“Oh dude, did I mention that my mom’s been hanging out with Lydia’s mom?” Scott asked out of the blue, cutting himself off from his previous shell musings.

Stiles blinked. “No? So? Your mom deserves to have friends.”

“I know  _ that _ ,” Scott huffed, offended. “But that’s not how I mean...I mean, I think my mom is dating Lydia’s mom.”

“...Dude,” Stiles didn’t even try to fight the grin. “You telling me you might one day be Lydia’s stepbrother? Oh my god, that’s great.”

“Hey!” Scott whined, kicking at Stiles. “This is serious, Stiles!”

Stiles straightened up and furrowed his brow at Scott. “Does it bother you?”

“No, I don’t know?” Scott scratched a hand through his hair and slumped his shoulders. “It’s just  _ weird _ . Not that she’s dating a lady! Just that she’s...dating. She never did much of it, after the divorce. I guess she was too busy taking care of me and finishing her degree and working, so it’s always just been me and her, and now. How did you feel about your dad dating again?”

“Dude,” Stiles snorted, then twisted around on the couch to pat Scott’s shoulder sympathetically. “It’s a bit of a different situation, to put it mildly. I mean, he didn’t date. Then, suddenly, he’s hanging out with  _ Peter _ , and at first I thought ‘Oh okay my dad’s friends with the unhinged zombie werewolf’. Next thing I know, they’re  _ together _ , and that was not something I anticipated. I didn’t really know my dad wasn’t straight? If I had I would’ve probably gone to him sooner about my sexuality crisis, but that’s whatever. I still honestly don’t know how I feel about it.”

Scott nodded, frowning thoughtfully. “Good point. I guess as long as my mom’s happy.”

“Exactly,” Stiles said. “Atta boy, Scotty!”

“Shut up,” Scott laughed, then did a double take at the clock. “Holy shit, whoops, I meant to head home like an hour ago!”

Stiles twisted back around to look at the time, then blinked in surprise. “I didn’t realize it was that late. You can crash here tonight, if you want. I think I still have some of your clothes from the last time shoved in the bottom drawer of my dresser.”

Scott frowned, apologetic. “Thank, bro, I appreciate the offer but I don’t have any of my school stuff and I planned on working some more on my government paper.”

“Okay, no worries,” Stiles smiled. “But, dude, it’s snowing like hell out, and I  _ know _ you ran here.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me!”

“Dude, relax, I’ll give you a ride home,” Stiles rolled his eyes, fond, stood up, and headed towards the stairs. “Just let me don more layers because I am not freezing my ass off for you.”

“You’re the best!” Scott called after him.

Stiles laughed. “You know it!” He shouted back as he went into his room. He dug out one of Derek’s sweaters he stole, pulled it on and a hoodie on over that, then put his shoes on.

Scott was already in the jeep and had it started up by the time Stiles made it downstairs. Stiles grabbed his coat out of the hall closet, then braved the outside. The cold, though he was expecting it, was shocking. He shivered and darted over to the jeep as fast as he could without falling on his ass.

“Who said it could get so  _ cold _ ?” Stiles whined as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “You’re lucky I like you, or you’d be walking.”

“But I’m not, because you’re  _ the best _ ,” Scott said, buckling his seatbelt. “But I’m pretty sure global warming is responsible for this sudden cold snap.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna start lecturing me about the environment,” Stiles groaned, throwing the jeep into reverse and backing out of his driveway. “I haven’t forgotten that speech from eighth grade.”

“It’s  _ important _ , Stiles!” Scott said vehementantly. “We’ve gotta protect it!”

“Dude, I know,” Stiles grinned, and yelped when Scott reached over to punch his shoulder. “Hey!”

“Then don’t make fun of me,” Scott said, though he was fighting a grin. Stiles laughed, and turned his windshield wipers on as the jeep crawled down the snow-covered street.

They made it to Scott’s in one piece, despite Scott’s joking concerns that the jeep wouldn’t make it. Stiles shot him a smug smirk, and Scott rolled his eyes fondly before climbing out of the jeep. Stiles waited until Scott made it into the house, because he distinctly remembered Scott at the ice rink falling on his ass numerous times. When Scott was safely inside, Stiles pulled away from the curb and turned around to head back home.

A white SUV whipped by him, and Stiles shouted at it as the back bumper disappeared around the corner. “Asshole,” he muttered, and turned left. He didn’t think much about the SUV until he was nearly home and he spotted it sitting diagonally in the middle of the street. Stiles came to a stop maybe twenty feet from it, squinting at it suspiciously. It didn’t  _ look _ like it’d wrecked, but the snow made it kinda hard to tell.

He reached for his phone, and a moment later someone tapped on his window. Stiles startled, biting back a shriek as he turned his head warily. The dude standing there looked a little worse for wear, and Stiles cracked his window cautiously.

“Hey, you okay? I can call 911 for you?” Stiles offered.

The guy shook his head, then smiled. Belatedly, Stiles realized his doors weren’t locked, but it was too late. The guy yanked the door open before Stiles could reach for the lock, his hand darting out to slap Stiles’ phone out of his hand. “That won’t be necessary, Stilinski,” he said.

Dread, icy and heavy, settled in his gut, and Stiles’s first thought as he was being dragged out of the jeep was ‘ _ fuck not again _ ’. Then, he thought of Derek, and Stiles screamed into the bond before the guy hit the back of his head with something  _ hard _ , and darkness reached up to swallow him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The thing with Melissa has been in the cards since I started this fic. Out of spite, in fact, for a snippy comment about how HDIL is "one of those stories where practically everyone is gay". So it's like, a long time coming, and to the person who made that comment and who probably won't ever see this, know this: I'm not done making all your faves gay)

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel inclined to come shriek (or something) at me on [ tumblr](http://www.daeshikoba.tumblr.com), go right ahead! ^-^
> 
> I forgot to mention that I posted a missing scene (set between chapters 1&2). [ click here to read it](http://howdoilivefanficblog.tumblr.com/post/91057786252/missing-scene-puppy-piles-and-pack-feels)


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